Old School
by bornonhalloween
Summary: He's old school, and I think I like it! 2nd Place Judges' and Public Votes, P.S. I LOVE YOU CONTEST.
1. Chapter 1

**###**

 **OLD SCHOOL**

 _Written for the P.S. I Love You contest_

 **1**

Of course it starts pouring because I actually flat-ironed my hair this morning. I hunch my shoulders as if playing turtle might stop the raindrops from landing on my head and my skintight clothes. If only I had a real waterproof shell to escape into.

 _Come on, 51!_ If the bus arrives before my T-shirt gets soaked through, this day might not be a total disaster.

A body shuffles behind me; the rain stops—or at least, it stops falling on me. A soft pitter-pat above my head muffles the noise pollution of the city street. Any other day, I would shrug away from a stranger's umbrella. Today, I can't afford to be prickly.

Craning my neck, I take a cautious peek at the pavement behind me. A man's brown loafers, almost twice the size of my own open-toed sandals, stand firm against the water droplets ricocheting off the sidewalk. My gaze ventures up his tan corduroy pants, just reaching his thigh when a deep voice startles me.

"Sorry, didn't meant to scare you. I hope you don't mind."

My focus jumps to the man's face—a handsome, grown-up face framed by a close-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. A hint of a smile brushes his cheeks, mirrored in his silvery-blue eyes.

"Not at all. Thanks, actually."

His grin widens. "It goes against my grain to let a lady get wet."

Coming from any other guy, that line would definitely ring the creeper bell. Something about this man—maybe the crinkles etched at the corners of his eyes and lips—lends a sense of depth that instantly sets me at ease. Or maybe his swoon-worthy smile has lulled me into a false sense of security.

"I appreciate that."

"My pleasure." He steps close to my side, creating a safe, dry island for two.

A rustle of cellophane draws my attention to a bouquet of sunflowers in his opposite hand. _Be still my romantic heart._

"Those oughtta brighten somebody's rainy day," I say, allowing myself the brief, wistful fantasy of those flowers—and the smile behind them—being for me.

"Hope so." He glances at the flowers as if they disappoint him somehow. "So, what brings you out in this monsoon?"

"I have a job interview."

He scans my outfit as if he must have seen it wrong the first time. The eyebrows rise, but he resets his neutral expression just as quickly. "I see."

I should make something up, something that would impress a man who buys flowers and keeps ladies dry in the rain. But fuck that, because if I can't even say it out loud to a stranger on the street, how am I ever gonna get this damn job?

"I'm applying at Hooters." It's almost a dare.

"I see," he says again. His gaze falls to my chest, just for a split-second, but long enough for my stupid nipples to form two sharp points against my damp shirt. "I like your chances," he says, "if you don't mind my saying so."

Gee, why would I mind a complete stranger telling me my tits will get me a job?

 _Get over yourself, Bella._ "I guess it kind of goes with the territory."

He chuckles. "The terrain, so to speak."

 _Okay, so done talking about my chest._ "And where might you be headed?"

"I'm going to visit my mother at Shady Acres."

 _Duh, the flowers!_ "Oh, is that a cemetery?" _Excellent_. _I'm standing here discussing my tits with a man going to visit his dead mom._

A short, crisp laugh leaves him. "No. It's a nursing home."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," he says. "I like to have lunch with Mom on Mondays. They make a surprisingly decent meatloaf."

Grateful for his humor, I play along. "You just go for the food, then?"

"Oh no," he answers so seriously I think maybe I've offended him after all. "Mom's loaded, and she's gonna kick the bucket pretty soon. I have to make sure I stay on her good side so she doesn't write me out of her will and leave everything to the young stud who does her sponge baths."

My jaw drops. "Wow, that's terrible"—though I couldn't say whose behavior was more deplorable, the aide's or the son's.

"Um... I'm messing with you."

"Oh my god! You're a jerk!" I haul off and punch his umbrella-holding arm right in the bicep. Solid rock meets my knuckles. "Ow! Jeez!"

"You do realize you're the one who hit _me,_ right?" The man's smile reminds me of my cousin Sam when we'd wrestle as kids, and he'd let me think I had a chance at pinning him.

"Sorry about that. I guess I'm nervous."

"No worries. I can take it." He stands there looking big and strong for a second before leaning in close. "But I wouldn't tell your prospective employer about your temper. They might not look kindly on a waitress who beats her customers with hot wings if they joke around with her. Very bad for business. Oh look, here comes the bus."

Sure enough, the bus chugs closer, swooshing through the water trough at the edge of the road before coming to a stop at our corner. The door opens with a loud hiss. My knight with a shiny umbrella walks me to the bus and waits until I am safely inside.

 _Well, that was interesting._

My plan to ignore him flies right out the window when my mystery man's head appears in the stairwell. He's even more handsome in full-on frontal view than the snippets of profile I'd stolen outside. My heart flutters and flips.

He scans the rows of seats as if reading a page line by line—across, back, across, back, duck, duck, _goose_! His eyes light up when they land on me, and I feel about as grounded as dandelion seeds in a hurricane. As he approaches my row, his smile curls into his cheeks, forming an enormous dimple on one side. "Almost forgot to wish you good luck."

I tap the molded plastic beside me. "This seat's open."

"You sure?" He waits for me to nod before sliding into the seat, careful to keep his wet trench coat and umbrella from touching my side. The bouquet rests in his lap. I try not to stare at where those sunflower heads are aimed, but it isn't easy.

The bus starts up with a lurch, and I grab the seat in front of me. Nerves and a bumpy ride add up to a sour stomach I don't have time for right now.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Could you... keep talking, maybe?"

He grins that Sam-grin again, humoring me but not seeming to mind. "Anything in particular I should talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know. Do you have a job, or do you just go around impressing women?"

"You're impressed?"

"Maybe."

"Hmm, maybe I should just keep you guessing, then."

"Why? Will I not be impressed if I find out the truth?"

Laughter rolls out of his throat like a song. At the end of it, he shakes his head and sighs. "Now, how am I supposed to know what would impress you?"

"The usual, I guess. Like if you were some kind of a superhero."

"Superhero!" He waggles his bushy eyebrows. "Umbrella Man saves the day?" He's not so far off, actually.

"I bet you're looking for a phone booth right now, aren't you? Got a cape and tights on under that outfit?"

"I'm not sure I know you well enough to discuss my underwear." Never mind that we've already discussed my boobs.

"Damn, my stop is next, just when it was getting good."

He stands up to let me out, though I would have happily climbed over his lap—or stayed in it a while.

"Here," he says, handing me the umbrella. "Take this with you."

"What about you?"

He runs his fingers through his hair, and it all settles perfectly back into place. "Mom won't care if my hair is a little wild. But what she _would_ mind is if I let a pretty girl go back out in the rain without an umbrella."

"You're gonna tell her about me?"

He smiles. "I just might."

There's no time to argue, and I really do need that umbrella. _Nice meeting you_ feels off, as we haven't actually introduced ourselves. "Thank you. For everything."

"My pleasure… and good luck. Almost forgot again!"

I start down the aisle toward the door, then turn around one last time. "Tell your mom I said thanks for raising you right."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Well, hello! It's ME! Surprised? I wrote this story for the **P.S. I Love You Contest** here on fanfic, and the full contest version of the story is available under that author listing... HOWEVER, I do plan to embellish the story in certain spots, and knowing me, other "improvements" might take place as we go along here. SO, if you want the new and improved version, maybe don't spoil it for yourself by reading the contest version? Or maybe you already have? Well, I'm not the boss of you, so do whatever you like!

A few people need big thanking- **Ladyeire** most violently, for her endless patience and enthusiasm for plot twisting and character torturing; **Shell Taylor** (shellshock81) for her super duper pre-reading superpowers; and then there's **Chayasara** , beta supreme. They're all pretty damn marvelous. And thanks to the contest hosts, **Sri** and **Chrissie Purple (purpleC305),** for creating an inspiring topic and running a great contest. If you haven't read the other stories over there, go on and check them out at **_P.S. I Love You Contest_**!

I'd like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, and voted or judged and YAY for 2nd place with the judges and the public and another lovely award- best couple! Now that it's all over, I'm curious to know if you guessed this was mine. I will definitely take a spin through the reviews over on the contest page, but it's much easier for me to see you here and respond as I get the notifications. That's not a plea for reviews, though you know I love them! Hopefully you'll stick around and see what's what with Old School and the Hooter Girl. Heeheehee. You know what to do... talk to me, people!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

The uniform takes some getting used to. I practice walking and bending in front of the mirror at home, making sure that mandatory "smile" under the bright orange shorts stays visible at all times. The tank top fits like sausage casing, but I know my tits look good— _too_ good, I might have worried, if not for the strictly enforced, no-touch policy and the numerous bouncers stationed around the "breastaurant."

At three o'clock on Friday, I punch in for the first time and step behind the bar with the general manager who hired me. Despite his good looks and position of authority, Emmett has a way of easing my nerves and making me quickly feel part of the Hooters family. He starts me at the end of the bar, farthest from the service area where the waitresses pick up their drinks.

"These six stools and anyone who walks up behind them are yours. You keep them happy, and that'll keep me happy. I'm happy, you're happy. Capiche?"

"Got it."

"Anyone gives you a hard time, you yell for me or one of the bouncers... or better yet, let Rosie handle 'em." He puts his arm around the gorgeous blonde bombshell standing next to him and draws her to his side. "Bella Swan, meet Rosalie Hale, bartender extraordinaire and love of my life, not necessarily in that order."

Rose rolls her eyes. "Welcome to Hooters, Bella. You need anything, I'm right here."

Rose knows her mixology, but more impressive, she manages the food orders with ease and slaps drinks on the servers' trays as if she has six hands. On top of all that, she checks on me at regular intervals to make sure I'm not drowning—which, I am proud to say, I am not.

Aside from the openly brazen tit staring, Hooters customers are pretty much like any other thirsty, hungry bar patrons I've served before. Just like riding a bicycle, except I have some new specialty cocktails to learn: Packin' a Punch, the Hootercane, the Long-Legged Long Island.

The bar fills quickly, and I don't have time to be nervous. Before I know it, two hours have passed, and the dinner crowd starts rolling in. My six stools fill, with a second row forming behind.

I am in the zone. I am perpetual motion—maybe not poetry, but I am damn proud of how I'm handling myself. No spills, no hideous mistakes, no qualms with the kitchen. Basically, I am rocking it.

And then _he_ walks in.

Even before seeing him approach, I feel his presence as a warm tickle at the back of my neck. I'm sure I am blushing like a fool. It's been five days since I've seen him, but it strikes me at once that he's been a subconscious tickle at the edge of my memory this whole time.

A beeper at the end of the bar flashes bright red blips, snapping me back to reality. The customer settles his tab and slips through the crowd. The two couples standing behind the barstool wave off the single spot. My heart leaps right into my throat as my bus stop hottie settles onto the stool.

With trembling fingers, I pull a cocktail napkin off the stack and set it neatly in front of him. "Welcome to Hooters, Umbrella Man." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

"I told you you'd get the job."

So he had. "You come here often?"

He chuckles. "No. I had to come see for myself..." What he's come to see becomes apparent as his eyeballs hit the "HOOTERS" stretched across my chest. " _Bella_. Suits you."

"Well, that doesn't seem fair. Now you know my job _and_ my name."

"I'm Edward." He offers his hand, and I take it before remembering mine is damp and chilly from handling cold beverages and wet cloths.

"Sorry, my hand is—"

His grip tightens as I try to pull away. "Incredibly soft," he says, holding my gaze as firmly as my hand.

A shiver races up my arm. "Edward? Not Eddie or Ed? Or Ted?"

" _Never_ Ted. Eesh!" No, I suppose, not Ted for the man who brings his mother flowers.

"Edward, then. That suits you, too. Very old-school."

"Ouch." He releases me and claps his hand to his chest.

"I like it. It's different."

"Old _and_ different. Maybe I should quit while I'm behind."

"Can I buy you a drink, Edward?"

"To make up for all the insults?" He gives me a fake-wounded pout I don't buy for a second.

"Let's call it a trade for the umbrella."

"Fair enough. What's your specialty?"

"For you, I like something classic, clean, and simple."

That easy smile spreads slowly across his face. Message received. "I like the sound of that."

"Vodka, bourbon, or tequila?"

"Let's start with tequila."

I very much like the sound of _that_ —his settling in for more than one. "Sit tight. I'm gonna blow your socks off."

"There you go again, talking about my underwear."

 _Gah, this guy can flirt!_ It isn't just that he keeps leading my thoughts wherever he wants them—in his pants, mostly—but he seems to love catching me off-guard. He's made no bones about coming to see me. This man's confidence might be the sexiest thing about him, but then again, those eyes...

"Can we get another round?" Seat three circles his finger over the two empty pilsner glasses, pulling me out of our little bubble.

"Sorry," I say to Edward, "the natives are getting restless."

"Go! Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

I pat the bar in front of him, a little parting-is-such-sweet-sorrow gesture. "Thanks."

A backlog of needy customers has piled up while I was schmoozing up Edward. I hustle my orange-clad ass, opening, pouring, and mixing my heart out, while Edward's eyes follow my every move. His presence expands to fill every molecule of space. Avoiding his gaze requires significant effort.

What a relief when I can finally mix Edward's drink and give him my complete attention. I pull down a highball glass and drop in two fresh mint leaves. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his smirk as I plunge the muddler inside the glass and grind the mint with vigorous pumps. I fill the glass with ice, a shot of Herradura, lime juice—lovingly hand-squeezed—and a splash of soda, then garnish with a fresh mint leaf and a bright pink umbrella, which brings a chuckle from Edward.

"Nice touch," he says, giving the umbrella a festive twirl.

"Well, I did hijack yours."

"I'm pretty sure I gave it to you."

"Whatever. Try your drink."

Edward lifts the straw to his mouth and pulls in a long sip. "Mmm. Consider my socks knocked off."

"There you go again, talking about your underwear." Edward's gentle laughter sweeps me right back into our little bubble, but the spell is quickly broken.

A hand snakes around my waist. Rose appears at my side. "How's it going down here?" Rose scans the bar with the practiced eye of a pro, landing on Edward at the end. "Oh. Hello."

Edward nods politely, suddenly very enthralled with his drink.

Something is going on between these two, something I don't think I like. I study Rose for a clue, but my coworker has her game face on. I'm not going to get anything out of her right here; that much is clear.

"Need any help, Bella?"

"Nope, I'm all set."

Rose gives me a cheery, "Okay," then skitters away, leaving me with questions I can't wait five hours to get answered. Hell, I can't wait five minutes.

"Excuse me," I mutter, then scoot to the other end of the bar and place my mouth near Rose's ear. "You know Edward?"

Rose crouches to grab a pair of Bud bottles from the cooler. "Who?"

"My customer. Seat one?"

"Oh! No, I don't know him."

"You seemed to recognize him." Rose is doing the work of two while I am standing here interrogating her, but my need to understand outweighs everything else.

"Hey, if you're worried about me horning in on your sugar daddy action, Emmett is more than enough man for me."

"There's no action to horn in on! We just met the other day, right before my interview."

Rose stops suddenly, breaking into a wide grin. "Aha!"

"'Aha' what?"

She snags the edge of my shirt and drags me to the back wall of the bar. "He's been in here the last three nights. I'd never seen him before that. He never sits down, never orders anything, never looks at any of the girls with more than a passing glance. I couldn't figure out what his deal was, but it makes total sense now."

"It does?"

"Duh, Bella!" Rose laughs, tossing her long blonde waves around her shoulders. "He's been looking for you."

I know damn well he's watching me. I shouldn't turn and look at him, but I can't help it. Gone is the confident ease that turns my insides to jelly; in its place, worried eyes and a sheepish frown. Yeah, his behavior is a tad stalkerish.

I saunter back, hand on one hip, eyebrows raised, and wait for an explanation.

"I'm busted, aren't I?"

"A little bit."

Edward shrugs. "I figured I had three options if I wanted to have any hope of seeing you again. One, come back here every day for two weeks to see if you got hired—which, thankfully, you did. Two, stand at our bus stop... _forever_. Three, pray you'd show up for Meatloaf Monday at Shady Acres. And now that I've said that out loud, I realize how insane it is."

"A little bit," I answer, but I can't contain my smirk. "You forgot number four."

He looks up. "Oh yeah?"

I lean across the bar and put my Hooters right in his view. "You could have asked me for my number."

He chuckles. "Now, why didn't I think of that?" As he slowly pulls his phone out of his pants pocket, a grin settles on his face. "Okay, we can do it this way, but you don't know what you're missing. The meatloaf is truly outstanding."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Just a tweak here and there from the original version... bigger changes coming in later chapters. Thank you all for reading and leaving me your own little love notes back. They make me smile. :)  
Hope your holidays are bringing you joy.  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

 ** _Did you make it home okay?  
This is Edward, by the way._**

Waking up to his text takes the sting out of my nine o'clock alarm and sends a giddy buzz through my system. Checking up on my safety—so deliciously old-school.

It kind of killed Edward last night when I told him I'd be taking the bus home after my shift, but what was he going to do, stick around till 2 a.m.? I can't help but smile, remembering the reluctant look on his face when he left just before midnight.

Best not keep the man in limbo.

 ** _Yes thx. All is well._**

I save his number to my contacts. First name: Edward. Last name: O'School. Two seconds later, a smile emoji pops up on my phone, and I know it matches my own expression. I set my phone down on the kitchen counter in case Edward texts again while my coffee brews.

My accounting textbook mocks me from the coffee table. I can barely lift the damn thing, let alone absorb its contents. Cost Accounting is kicking my ass. How did I get two weeks behind already? It's only October first.

I push away the voices in my head that threaten to bring me down: _Should've stayed in school the first time and graduated like your brothers. You're not smart enough. You still have seventy-four credits to go. Stick with bartending—your tits'll make you more than droning away at some accounting firm._

Coffee.  
Crack open the book.  
Push through it...

My phone buzzes again. How is it possible only ten minutes have passed?

 ** _What are you doing later? I get off at 11. I'll get you off by 11:30. ;)_**

Good ol' James McBooty Call. Guy's not half bad in the sack, and the flesh-on-flesh is nice once in a while. Then again, Roger Rabbit satisfies every time, and I don't have to kick his pale ass out of my bed afterwards.

My new job makes for an easy excuse: **_Sorry – working._**

 ** _Next time :)_**

Knowing James, he's already moved on to the next girl on his list. In a way, it's comforting to know what to expect from him—nothing. Back to the grind.

Fixed costs, variable costs, mixed costs...  
 _"He's been looking for you..."_

Contribution margin ratio...  
 _"You don't know what you're missing..."_

Break-even point...  
 _"Maybe I should just keep you guessing..."_

Dammit, Edward is distracting! The attraction is undeniable, but so is the age difference. _Sugar daddy._ The stereotype doesn't flatter either of us.

"Yuck. Okay, back to the books!"

Compute the marginal cost of 2,000 widgets...

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

My unplanned nap is interrupted by the blare of my phone. _Oh, she's a brick... house..._

I peel my cheek off the page that put me to sleep. Hopefully, some accounting concepts seeped in by osmosis while I was sleeping.

 _She's mighty, mighty... just lettin' it all hang out!_

"Hold on!" I yell at my phone while I stretch for it. _Edward O'School calling.._. "Shit!"

My heart is pounding into my ears. I bolt upright on the couch and clear my throat before attempting to answer. "Hello?"

"Hi, Bella. I hope I'm not disturbing you." If I close my eyes, I can see him as plain as day.

"Oh... no, I was just studying."

"Oh yeah? What are you studying?"

"Cost accounting. Joy of joys."

He chuckles into the phone. I can practically feel his breath on my ear. "You don't sound like a fan."

"Is anyone?"

"I really couldn't say," he answers, his gentle tones wrapping themselves around me. "I shouldn't keep you from your books."

"No, it's fine." I nestle the phone against my cheek. "So, what's up?"

"Oh, uh... nothing, really."

 _Silence_.

He saves me by cutting into the deathly abyss. "I was just calling to chat."

"Oh."

"Is this weird?"

It is now. "Maybe a little unusual."

"Ah," he says. "I'm being old-school again, aren't I?"

 _Crap._ "I guess I'm just not used to chit-chatting on the phone."

He chuckles but there's none of his usual delight in it. "Oh boy. This is going well."

"It's fine," I offer, but honestly, it's awkward as hell. "Well, look, I guess I really should hit the books. Thanks for calling."

"Sure, Bella. You have a good evening." He sounds both relieved and miserable, which is exactly how I'm feeling.

"Yep, you too. Bye." I end the call before the goodbye gets long and torturous as well.

.

.

.

TGIF was a walk in the park compared to Saturday night. We're jammed starting at Happy Hour. The ten-cent buffalo wings fly out of the kitchen, the five-dollar Jager bombs hot on their heels. By 10:30, the bar patrons are elbow-to-elbow, with more customers jammed behind. I'm working my ass off, so I don't think about his absence—until he suddenly appears.

My heart skitters when my eyes meet his—intense, laser-focused, so damn blue. He doesn't push his way up front like the others to order a drink, but I pour him one anyway. A classic margarita: tequila, fresh lime juice, agave syrup, and salt. His eyebrows pop when I spear the lime garnish with a bright green umbrella, and his lips form the beautiful smile my memory could not quite reproduce.

"Better start a tab," he says, passing his Amex between two customers before snapping up his drink.

He carves out a space among the crowd standing behind the seats. Every time I sneak a peek, he's watching me. I go about my business, lubricating and entertaining the customers. Do I lean in a little closer, laugh a little louder, swish my orange-clad ass a little harder than I did before? Yes, I most certainly do.

A stool opens up, and Edward nabs it, smooth as silk but with authority, surprising the young buck who had been hovering with one eye on the bar seats and the other on his girlfriend's tits. I bite my lip so I don't smile too hard while tossing a fresh napkin in front of Edward.

"You made it."

"So it seems," he says, scooting his stool up to the bar.

"Can I hit you with another margarita?"

An impish grin crosses his face so briefly I might have imagined it. "Actually, could you just set it down in front of me?"

"Let's see how the night goes."

I'm rewarded with a glint of amusement in his steely eyes. "Fair enough."

"Would you like to see a menu?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."

My attention is partly on the margarita I'm mixing but mostly on Edward. I set down his drink and lean in so the whole place can't hear us. "So, I guess you've figured out I'm a better listener than talker?"

"I can work with that," he answers with a gentle smile. "In fact, I came in here to—"

"Oh, I can _definitely_ work with those!" The loudmouth on the barstool beside Edward points a meaty finger toward my chest.

After downing a 20-piece platter of Three Mile Island wings and a pitcher of Bud, the man has lost his volume control along with any filter he might have brought in with him. I have done my best to avoid this fool's advances all night, but that now seems impossible.

"Hey, babe, I lost my phone number. Can I have yours?" His finger is poised over his phone, waiting for me to recite my digits. As if.

"Really wish I could, but management frowns upon us giving out personal information."

His easy-going, booze-infested demeanor changes on a dime. The hairs on the back of my neck snap to attention. Time to call in the troops. I take a calm step backwards, and that's when Edward stands and places his hand on the man's shoulder. Damn, and I really liked his nicely-arranged face.

Beer-for-brains turns with a start and glares at Edward. "What do _you_ want?"

He deflects the insult without flinching. "I want to help you save your dignity before it's too late, and you are perilously close to 'too late.'"

"What's your damage? Ohhh, I get it. You've got the hots for this chick!"

"What I have for this… young lady… is called respect."

"Pshhh!" He sprays the bar with saliva. "Did you miss the 'Hooters' painted across her chest?"

Edward's focus stays locked on the creepy dude, who turns to leer at me. I fold my arms across my chest and stand my ground.

" _Sir_ ," Edward says, "I'd be happy to debate this point with you when you're sober. Perhaps you'd like _my_ number…?"

"No, thanks, pops. I'm not really into older guys."

Emmett appears at my side, all puffed up and ready to bust someone's head. "Everything okay over here, gentlemen?"

"Yes," Edward answers. "I was just about to tell this _gentleman_ I'll happily settle his bill if he'll allow me to walk him to the door."

Drunk guy grins like he's just found a buyer for the Brooklyn Bridge. "Really? I had about a _millllion_ wings. And I was planning a _verrrry_ big tip." His attempt to wink at me turns my stomach. "Might cut into your Viagra budget."

"Don't you worry about me, Prince Charming. I'll take care of the lady." Edward's promise sends aftershocks through my body.

"Deal." Drunk guy tumbles off the chair, miraculously landing on his feet. "'Night, sweetheart."

Emmett nods at Edward. "I'll meet you at the door. Thanks." Watching Edward disappear into the crowd, I have to admit I am seriously crushing.

He returns a few minutes later, sinking onto his stool with a heavy sigh. "On behalf of my gender, I'd like to apologize for that man's hideous behavior."

"Umbrella Man saves the day again!"

He gives me a sheepish grin. "I couldn't let that drunken boor speak to you like that."

"Goes against your grain?" I tease.

"Don't tell me, I was being old-school again?"

"Absolutely. That was sweet of you to stand up for my virtue. Thanks."

He takes in my appreciative smile. "Emmett seems like a good guy."

"Yeah, he's a great boss."

"Good. Because despite evidence to the contrary, I'm not planning to show up here every day you're working."

"No?"

"I only meant to stop in briefly tonight, to ask you on a date, in person, because I'd botched it so horribly on the phone." God, he's really, really adorable.

"Oh, _that's_ what you were trying to do?"

He shakes his head and chuckles. "Way to kick a man when he's down."

"So, are you gonna ask me out or what?"

###

* * *

 **Author's Note:** *Spoiler alert* He is. :)

So what do you think, whippersnappers? Do you have long, small-talk phone conversations like we used to, back in the day? I remember one summer in particular, the first one Mr H and I were separated after nine months of almost constantly being together. One of us would call (after 11 pm on the Trimline phone), we'd talk for a while, and then just kind of hang out together because neither of us could hang up first (barf). Mom and Dad were paying for all that breathing, so what did it matter to us?

By the way, a few have asked how old these two are, and while I haven't explicitly stated their ages anywhere (and the issue will come up in later chapters) it won't spoil anything for me to tell you that I picture Bella in her very late twenties and Edward in his early-mid-forties. Even though he's too young to be a silver fox, I do have some compelling photos I'll be sharing in the patch. *grins*

Happy New Year to all you lovely ladies! (If any gents are reading this, I sure haven't met you yet!) Wishing you all a new year filled with love, peace, beauty, joy, laughter, good health, and friendship. Much love for all your support and encouragement. You keep me writing...and smiling.

And on a very, very sad note, our fandom lost a beautiful soul today, Theresa Lewis Bakergirl. Her words and spirit are scattered all over my stories as well as many, many others. No matter what she wrote in a review, she always signed off with blessings for peace and lots of x's. I miss her already. :(

 **XXX ~BOH**


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Life is basically one big blur until my day off on Wednesday. Managing two ridiculously difficult courses on top of working thirty hours a week tends to speed up time, but that's okay—it puts me closer to my associate's degree, that moment I can truly celebrate my accomplishment and know I got here on my own. I force my eyeballs into my _Intro to Finance_ book. I can't decide if this is better or worse than Cost Accounting, but at least some of these terms are familiar. I feel like I'm going through the motions with my homework. My mind keeps wandering to its new happy place—Edward.

True to his word, Edward has stayed away from Hooters—not that I would have minded his presence one little bit—and hasn't attempted another phone conversation. I'd expected no less from the man, once he'd given his word. What surprises me about Edward over the next four days is his serious texting game. He's sweet and flirty, but there's more to it than that. He cares about my thoughts and opinions and my safety, and he shares just enough about himself to keep me hungry for more.

He's dropped a few hints about his profession: not a typical nine-to-five; he's his own boss; it's something he's passionate about. Earlier this afternoon when I prodded him for details, he texted me: _"Let's see how the night goes…"_ The man knows how to tease, all right, but tonight is the Edward at the end of my tunnel. _Oh wow, that sounded dirty._

He won't say where we are going, but assures me jeans will be appropriate. I pair my dressiest jeans with a long tunic top, dangle earrings, and my fringy, brown suede boots. It's an interesting reversal to dress more conservatively for a date than I do for work. I barely touch my face with makeup and leave my hair to its own devices—it falls long and wavy halfway down my back. Flirty but not overtly sexy, youthful but not too young for him, I hope.

I head downstairs with plenty of time to spare. Edward would never keep a lady waiting, and I intend to show him the same courtesy. My housemate looks up from her dinner.

"Well, don't you look pretty!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Cope. You can just leave the dishes. I'll take care of them when I get home."

She waves my offer away. "Don't be silly. What time is your gentleman caller arriving?"

"He should be here in about fifteen minutes. He's looking forward to meeting you."

In fact, Edward had insisted on it after I told him about Mrs. Cope. Two years ago, I'd bombed out of USF for good, and my parents had stuck to their guns—no more allowance. I was tending bar five nights a week, but my savings dried up over the next six months, and my roommates were too stretched to cover my share of the rent on top of their own. I was literally twenty-four hours away from moving back home with my parents when I happened to see a new posting on Craigslist that looked way too good to be true:

HOUSEMATE WANTED FOR ELDERLY WOMAN.  
FREE ROOM & BOARD IN EXCH FOR GROCERY SHOPPING,  
FOOD PREP, LIGHT HOUSEKEEPING AND MAINTENANCE.  
NON-SMOKER, NO LOUD MUSIC, NO PARTIES, NO DRUGS.

I answered the ad though my cooking repertoire at the time consisted of ramen and grilled cheese. I was more than ready to leave the parties behind, so that part was the least of my challenges. The biggest turned out to be Mrs. Cope, herself.

Not that she wasn't perfectly warm and lovable—because she was, right off the bat—but she couldn't seem to accept the idea that a "young woman with my looks would want to hole herself up with some old lady in the 'burbs." She'd lost her husband after a long, terrible illness. Her remaining family—two sons on the east coast—visited dutifully a few times a year, but Mrs. Cope didn't want to live alone. She also didn't want to be driven out of her home.

I managed to convince her to give me a chance, and we celebrated the night I moved in with a couple of filets I threw on the grill (after replaying the YouTube video until I had the instructions committed to memory), a baked potato we split down the middle, and the best Caesar salad I ever made. Mrs. Cope was thrilled. I was determined. She laid out her expectations, and I met every one. Basically, Mrs. Cope and I saved each other.

The doorbell rings—eight minutes early—and my heart leaps into my throat. Mrs. Cope smiles as she gets up to answer the door. "Want me to give him the third degree?" she asks. "I can, you know."

"Yes, I remember, and no, thank you."

She squeezes my arm as she passes me. "Honey, I'm kidding. I won't scare your man away."

I watch from a safe distance as she opens the door. There stands Edward, looking handsome as ever in a crisp, white, short-sleeved button-down hanging just so over a pair of dark dress jeans. In his hand, a bouquet of bright daisies spills over a white ribbon with pink polka-dots. _My heart._

"Well, hello. I'm guessing you're Edward."

"Yes, ma'am." His soft chuckle warms my insides. It's only been five days since I last saw him, but I somehow managed to forget how gooey he makes me feel. "These are for you."

Edward's gaze darts in my direction, and he shoots me a wink—so I don't feel left out, I suppose.

"Oh! How _lovely!_ " Mrs. Cope presses her hand to her heart as she takes the flowers. "Aren't they lovely, Bella?"

"They are." I smile at Edward. He smiles back.

I move toward the doorway, unsure how to greet him, exactly. We're not on hugging terms, but shaking hands would just be weird. I opt for the ever-awkward, "Hi."

Somehow, when he says it back, those gunmetal gray eyes locking onto mine as if we're all alone in the room, the two little letters hold all the promise of a magical night. "Hi."

Mrs. Cope gives me a gentle shove out the door. "You two have a lovely evening, now."

Edward shakes her hand. "You too. Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cope."

I turn to tell her goodbye, but she's already shutting the door behind me. I can't help it, I laugh.

He turns an amused grin on me. "What?"

"Mrs. Cope is toast. You know that, right?"

"She's very sweet."

Edward's hand comes to rest on my back as he guides me toward the car and opens the passenger door for me. I can't say I remember any of my previous dates ever doing that. I can't take my eyes off his expression while he makes sure I'm tucked safely inside before closing the door. This old-school treatment is definitely growing on me, and judging by the little smirk on his face when he climbs behind the steering wheel, I think Edward knows it, too.

"Hey, if you have a car, why were you riding the bus the other day?"

"First of all, I love walking in the rain. I find that soft drumroll of rain on my umbrella very peaceful. In fact, if Shady Acres weren't so far away, I would have walked the whole way there. And secondly, getting in my car and traveling from point A to point B is efficient, but I don't get to interact with new people. I would never have met you, for example."

"You would have met me when you came into Hooters."

"I think we've already established why I went to Hooters." _Yes, we have, but it's so much fun to hear you admit it again._

Edward starts the engine and reaches for the gear shift between us. "You know what I just realized?" he asks me, a wide, wondrous grin on his face. "This is the first time we've actually been alone together. No bus people, no Hooters customers, no chaperone. Just you and me."

"You do realize there are going to be other people at the restaurant? Maybe we should just sit here in the driveway all night."

His eyes narrow just the slightest bit, enough to send a shockwave through my system. "Good point. Next time, I'm cooking for you."

He leaves me to ponder that delicious scenario as the car starts down the driveway. Edward and I, alone, in his house, shoes kicked off, wine glasses filled, candles lit, romantic music piping in, a hot man slaving over hot coals for me...

"What'd you make for Mrs. Cope tonight? It smelled good."

"Just a stir-fry, nothing fancy."

"Do you usually eat together?"

"Sometimes but not always. She's never pressed me to sit down to dinner together, but if the timing works out with my job and classes, we enjoy each other's company. And I like the dishes she's taught me to make."

"It seems like a perfect arrangement."

"I know it's a little weird, considering the age difference, but we respect each other's space, and we've honestly become good friends."

He chuffs. _Whoops._

"Edward, you do know she's old enough to be your mother, right?"

"It's okay, Bella. I don't think it's any great secret I'm older than you."

"Well, it _was_." I smile when he looks over at me. "Should we talk about this?"

"I'm happy to talk about anything you want."

Do I want to open this can of worms right now? On the first moments of our first date? What the hell. I suppose it's better to know what I'm getting myself into sooner rather than later.

"Okay, I guess I do have a question for you."

His concentration never leaves the windshield but I can see the smile edging up his cheek. "Go for it."

I'm not sure what it is about being with Edward in person that makes him so much easier to talk to than our awkward attempt at phone conversation, but I do feel as if I could ask him anything right now and he would give me a straight answer without being offended. "Are all of the women you date much younger than you?"

"Wow. You went right there." He glances over at me, and I can see his expression is still amusement, which is a tremendous relief. "I've dated women my age, younger women, and even women older than me. I am an equal opportunity dater."

"Sounds like you've dated a lot of women."

He shakes his head with a dark chuckle. "I cannot win here, can I?"

"I'm just teasing you. Thanks for answering."

"Welcome. And you, Bella? Do you have a thing for older guys?"

"No," I answer a bit too quickly, drawing a raised eyebrow from Edward. "I mean, I don't have some kind of fetish."

He bursts out laughing. "I suppose I asked for that." I shrug. "Would you like to ask how old I am?"

I've got him pegged for early forties, at least a good, safe decade younger than Dad. "Actually, I'd rather know if you're seeing anyone right now."

"Yes," he says, turning my direction long enough to add, "you."

And I melt. But I'm not quite ready to let him off the hook. "Is that it?"

"Unless you want to count my mother."

"Ewww, no." We both chuckle.

The air stills again.

"And you?" There's just enough gravity in his tone to let me know he cares about my answer.

"Nope."

The beautiful smile that breaks across his cheeks says it all. "Okay, then."

"Okay, then," I echo more to myself than to Edward.

A contented silence stays with us until we reach the restaurant.

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Don't you just love a good contented silence? _Sigh_.

I would like to thank **Pa Trizia 88** for hopping on board to help me expand this story. You'll see some of the new stuff kick in big time around chapter 7, and I'm excited to say I've already almost doubled the original story length (and character depth) with the new chappies! I hope you'll stick with this version and enjoy the changes, large and small, as they come your way.

Thanks so much for your sweet notes on these two. They are a pleasure to write and rewrite for you! MWAH!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Old School's idea of casual is white linen cloths and a wine list thicker than the bible. Obviously, he deserves to be teased.

"I can't believe this place calls itself a restaurant, and there is not a single chicken wing on the menu."

He lowers his menu binder to the table. "I think the Statler chicken has a drumette if you're really feeling homesick."

"Actually that sounds pretty good, but so do the veal chop and the swordfish and the pumpkin tortellini."

Edward folds his hands on top of the menu and gives me one of his trying-to-figure-you-out stares. "Are you one of those girls who says she's starved and then eats two bites and says she's stuffed?"

"I wish! No, I'm the girl who finishes pretty much everything in front of her and then orders dessert."

His grin widens. "My kinda gal."

He proceeds to order the tortellini for us to share as an appetizer and a bottle of pinot noir we sure as shit don't sell at Hooters. By the time I get three-quarters into my swordfish, I'm stuffed to the gills.

"I hope you won't be too disappointed in me if I can't handle dessert."

"Suit yourself, but I'm ordering the donut holes."

"Like Munchkins?"

" _Munchkins_? That's like comparing an Annie Leibovitz to a bathroom selfie!" It seems I have pushed a button. He is adorably passionate all of a sudden.

"So that would be a 'no'?"

" _These_ donut holes come out piping hot from the kitchen, crispy on the outside, tender and caky on the inside, rolled in cinnamon sugar, and served with a side of hot fudge dipping sauce. Does that sound like something you'd get at a rest stop on the highway?"

"What it _sounds like_ is a person getting all hot and bothered over there."

"Just sayin'." _Fuck_. That dimple.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier so I could have saved room?"

"My bad."

"Yeah, you don't look sorry at all."

Edward flags down the waiter and places the order. When the donuts arrive, steam and deep-fried goodness rising from their wire basket, Edward lights up. I have a feeling I'm about to see his "O" face.

"Would you like to be alone with your donut holes?"

"Nope." He plucks one out of the basket, dips it into the hot fudge sauce, and holds it over the dish while the excess chocolate drips off.

I'm literally on the edge of my seat, anticipating his first taste, but I should have known better. That's not Old School's style.

"Ladies first." He reaches across the table with the donut between two fingers and a look of wild yearning on his face. "No pressure," he says.

I'm powerless in the face of this man and his decadent pastry. "I hate you right now," I inform him before leaning in for a taste.

Okay, the donut is fucking ridiculous—warm chocolate giving way to the slight crackle of sweet crust against my teeth—but the best part is the expression of pure joy on his face as he watches me. This is a man who truly delights in giving pleasure. I let that sink in as I savor the tastes lingering on my tongue.

I kind of love that he doesn't ruin the moment by demanding any declaration from me afterward. There's no I-told-you-so, no hasty offer of another bite that would only cheapen the first. Instead, in what might be his sexiest move yet, Edward dips what's left of the donut hole back into the hot fudge, closes his eyes, and places the whole thing onto his tongue. He chews deliberately, as if committing every sensation to memory. I'm completely mesmerized by his appreciation of that single bite of food.

It seems a major effort when his eyelids finally open, and his mouth eases into a lazy smile. He looks so happily spent. _Fuck me._

He pulls his napkin from his lap and wipes off the powdery, chocolatey mess from his fingers. Damn, one of us could've licked those clean. What a waste.

"So," he asks, "what do you think?"

I think he's sexy as fuck, but I haven't downed enough wine to tell him so.

"You double dipped."

His whole face smiles. "Seeing as I'm planning to kiss you as soon as we get outside, I'm not too worried about exchanging germs."

 _Gah!_ I'm sure there's a proper response, but all that comes out of my mouth is, "Oh."

He chuckles. "Would you care for another bite?"

"Um, have you seen my uniform? Where am I gonna hide a donut hole?"

I can't blame him for lowering his gaze to my chest. "I assume that was rhetorical."

"Yes. And speaking of uniforms..."

"Yes?"

"Why do I get the feeling you don't want to tell me what you do for a living?"

"Ahhh." He places his credit card inside the leather folio. I wouldn't insult a man like Edward by offering to go Dutch. "Do you think we could save that conversation for our second date?"

"Second date, huh? Very crafty, Mr. Cullen… or is it _Doctor_ Cullen?"

"Just 'mister.'" He dabs his grin with the balled-up napkin. "I'm not trying to be crafty at all. It's just that once I made up my mind I was going to kiss you, I haven't really been able to concentrate on anything else."

 _Gulp._ "And when was that momentous decision made?"

"Well, I knew for sure when Mrs. Cope opened the door tonight, but if I'm being totally honest here"—he pauses; I lean in—"I've been _hoping_ ever since I got a good look at you on the bus."

 _Likewise, I'm sure, Mr. Cullen._ "Huh."

 _Oh yeah_ , I am cool as a cucumber… until I jump out of my seat, foiling Old School's attempt to pull out my chair for me. This manners thing will take some getting used to. His gentle, guiding hand at my back scoots comfortably around my waist, and I float more than walk out the door.

Edward's pace picks up as he steers me toward his car. All I can think about is how his lips will feel on mine. I'm giddy by the time he spins me around in his arms, my back pressed to his car, and his mouth inches from mine. The air between us is so charged, I'm surprised I don't see sparks when his fingertips touch my cheek.

As quickly as we got here, everything slows. He steps close enough that I can see the rise and fall of his chest. His smile yields to something much more serious—awe, maybe? Fear of being consumed by desire? His trembling fingers leave a wake of chills as they skim through my hair, cup the back of my head, and draw me toward his mouth.

"May I kiss you, Bella?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I can't produce more than an embarrassing moan. Hey, I'm lucky I can still stand up.

"I really hope that's a yes," he whispers.

We breathe in sync—in, out, in, out—and then, we don't breathe at all. He presses his lips to mine, and we share the most effortless kiss I have ever experienced. Gentle and elegant and warm and sweet and chocolate-cinnamon delicious.

I lace my hands together behind his neck and hang on for dear life. He rocks us ever so slowly; we breathe as a single being, open our lips for a deeper connection, settle into a better fit.

Time and place lose all meaning. All that matters is this intimate conversation, our tongues passing secrets back and forth.

He pulls back from our kiss, that same glazed, post-donut-hole hangover settled into his eyes. Mine must look the same.

He looks as if he might say something, then gives his head a little shake. "Wow, can I just..." He dips in for another sweet kiss, and our lips try to hold onto it even when he backs away. "Oh, man."

I clear my throat instead of trying to say something that's just gonna come out like a big ol' squeak.

"I think I better take you home now," he says.

 _Before we can't stop ourselves._

Neither of us knows quite what to say when we get back inside the car. Riding next to him is torture when all I want is more kisses and more Edward. I can't stop staring at his face. I don't know when I'll see him again, and I don't want to forget a single whisker.

The hell with pride. I pull out my phone. "Do you mind if I take your picture?"

He turns to see if I'm serious. "Right now?"

"Yeah."

"Knock yourself out."

It's dark in the car, and the road is bumpy. The pictures are awful.

"Might want to put the flash on."

"I didn't want to scare you while you're driving."

"I'd be more scared if you walked away with a horrible picture of me. You might not say yes when I ask you out again."

He's smiling so hard, that dimple is a sitting duck. _Click!_ The car lights up with the flash.

"You're right; that's much better. But then, I'm pretty sure I could have taken an upside-down picture of your left elbow, and I'd still say yes."

"In that case, let's lock this up right now. When is your next night off?"

"Sunday."

"Shit, really? That's four days from now." There's that adorable pout again, but this time I think he means it.

"I know."

"May I cook dinner for you on Sunday, Bella?"

"That depends. Are you a good cook?"

"No," he says sheepishly, "but we'll be alone."

"Sounds perfect."

"Aren't you going to put that in your phone?"

"Why?" I giggle. "Do you think I'm going to forget?"

"Don't worry. I'll remind you. A few times."

A happy buzz follows us home. Edward leaves the car running as he skips around to open my door. I take his hand, and he draws me out of the car and straight into a goodnight kiss.

He weaves his fingers between mine and walks me to the front stoop. I so want to drag Edward inside with me, but that's not how Old School rolls.

He wraps his arms around me in a close hug. This works—even though every part of me wants every part of him.

"Thank you, Edward. I had a really nice time tonight."

"Me, too, Bella."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Ahh, the first kiss. Something—writer's intuition?—tells me it won't be their last.

Loads of tinkering has happened here [Did you one-shot readers see what DIDN'T happen this time? _SHHH!_ ], so it feels like a good time to reiterate that ALL mistakes belong to me, especially going forward (where Chayasara hasn't seen the new versions) but also going back. Apparently, I accidentally erased part of chapter one's final line while posting, so those of you who read it before I fixed it and wondered what the hell happened there (no period, even!?) can go back and see what Bella said to Edward as she exited the bus. If you see a booboo, I always appreciate hearing about it (privately is better *wink*). But critiquer beware, you might just end up on my "list" for next time!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

A dozen white roses greet me when I get home from my finance class the next day. "I think you've got a keeper there, Bella," Mrs. Cope says, smiling hard as she presses the card into my hand.

 _To sweet kisses and new beginnings. -Edward_

Being on the receiving end of Edward's thoughtful gesture feels every bit as wonderful as I'd imagined. I glide up the stairs, vase in hand, and rush to my phone.

 ** _Thank you for the beautiful flowers and a wonderful evening_** _._

His answer comes back immediately. ** _The pleasure is mine._** Just when I catch my breath, he adds a kiss emoji.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

TGIF saps my energy. I step outside for my break, grinning when I see Edward's text: **_Miss me?_**

 ** _Yep._**

 ** _Good. ;)_**

 ** _Bastard!_**

 ** _Haha! XX_**

.

.

.

 ** _Morning, sunshine. Be good and get all your homework done today. Tomorrow night, you are all mine!_**

It's not exactly still morning when I wake to Edward's message. His last line keeps me puzzling for hours. Clearly, date one stops at kissing. What are Old School's rules for date two? It would serve him right if I had Mrs. Cope ask his intentions, but I try the subtle approach.

 ** _What time should I walk over? What can I bring?_**

 ** _I'll pick you up! 5:30 okay? Bring salad? Any food allergies/aversions?_**

Ugh, no clues. I have no choice but to throw a toothbrush and a thong into my purse.

.

.

.

Showing up fifteen minutes early is not playing fair. I'm stuck washing and chopping lettuce in the kitchen while Mrs. Cope greets Edward and chats him up in the living room.

Hearing Edward's voice now makes me rethink my ban on phone calls. His laughter carries into the kitchen, seriously disturbing my concentration. I struggle to work the sharp knife down the cucumber without slicing off a finger in the process.

"Screw it!" I toss the half-pared cucumber into the salad bowl on top of the lettuce, followed by the unpeeled red onion, a big, ripe tomato, and a whole red pepper—sticker and all. "I'm coming!"

My heart skips a beat when Edward turns toward my approaching steps. _Fuck me_. Is he serious with those distressed jeans and dusty gray t-shirt? So, my memory hasn't been playing tricks on me. He is that hot.

His smile cranks up about a thousand degrees, igniting my body as he takes in my skin tight jeans and white tank. "Hello."

I'm supposed to be cool and not tackle him because _salad_ and _Mrs. Cope_ , so I force one foot deliberately in front of the other. He squeezes my free hand and pulls me in for a chaste kiss on the cheek.

 _You're not fooling me, Edward Cullen. I can feel the heat coming off you._ And damn, the way this man smells, even without the chocolate and cinnamon!

He glances into the deep wooden bowl as he takes it from me. "Um... interesting salad."

"Shush, you," I tell him, earning me a chuckle from Edward and Mrs. Cope.

"Ready?" Yeah, Edward's as eager as I am to bust out of here.

"Yes."

Mrs. Cope gives me a wink as she shoos us out again. "Have fun, you two."

"Good evening, Mrs. Cope," Edward says, taking my hand.

He walks me down the driveway and opens the car door for me. As he places the salad bowl on my lap, he says, "Oh, there's something I've been dying to tell you."

"What's that?"

His grin moves closer. "This." I draw in a quick breath just before he kisses me. His tongue presses gently against mine, leaving an ache between my legs. He pulls away with an even bigger smile on his face. "Much better."

We have a million things to talk about—my day, his day, that mysterious job of his—but we ride the mile and a half to Edward's house inside a silence bursting with everything yet to be learned about each other.

He parks in his driveway and escorts me to the front door. His house is similar in style to Mrs. Cope's, but this paint job is fresh, and there's a well-tended garden by the entrance.

A rich, meaty aroma wraps around us like a blanket when he opens the door.

"What is that amazing smell?"

"That would be the coq au vin."

"What?" I follow him into the kitchen and set my salad bowl onto the counter. "I thought you said you can't cook!"

"I learned." He takes in my surprised smile. "What, you don't believe an old dog can learn new tricks?"

"Let's just say I'm impressed."

"Mission accomplished." _Okay, that was sexy as fuck._ "What would you like to drink?"

"You're gonna make _me_ a cocktail?" I settle onto one of the wooden stools at the island. "What's your specialty?"

"I don't like to brag, but I make a mean dirty martini."

"Will you have one, too?"

"I'd never make a lady drink alone. Vodka or gin?"

Oh lord, we are going to get wasted. "Dealer's choice."

Edward's smile never fades as he produces two martini glasses from the freezer and lays out all his supplies, including a handsome martini shaker trimmed with brown leather—an accessory that screams _bachelor_.

He shakes our drinks over his right shoulder, making me weak with his muscular display. No wonder my knuckles smarted from punching his arm! He strains the drink like a pro, back and forth over both glasses until the shaker is empty, then spears three olives to garnish each one. He slides one glass toward me.

He lifts his glass. "Here's to being alone together."

A shiver curls down my spine. "Cheers!"

He watches my first taste expectantly. "Well? How'd I do?"

"Beast level," I say, "though it'd be better with an umbrella."

"I'll have to get some for next time." _Next time._ "Why don't I finish chopping the salad while you enjoy your drink?"

"That'd be great."

He shakes his head and chuckles to himself as he removes the vegetables one at a time from the salad bowl. He pulls three knives out of the wood block before finding the one he wants. His slicing technique—slow, inefficient, uneven strokes—would never win Edward any "Top Chef" awards, but I can't look away from the careful motion of his hands. He finishes slicing the cucumber and glances up to see if I'm still watching. Hell yes, I am. I'm rewarded with a killer wink I can feel right down to my toes.

He slides the cucumber slices off the cutting board and plops the red onion down in its place. After a haphazard attempt to peel the skin away, he gives up and lops off the hairy knob. I'm pretty sure Edward has no idea what he's doing but it's insanely entertaining to watch.

The knife slices through the fat center of the onion, releasing a wave of tear gas that causes Edward to blink. He puts on a macho act and pretends it's not getting to him, but after a few more slices, he sets down the knife and pulls his sleeve across his eyes. "You got a strong onion, there," he says.

"I'm officially ruling out chef as a possibility."

His eyebrows rise as he realizes we're back to the subject of his work. "That's a safe bet."

"Here," I say, sliding the base of his martini glass toward his hand. "Alcohol keeps away the tears."

"Is that so?" Edward picks up his glass, takes a healthy swig, and sets it down again with a loud smack of his lips.

"See? Better, right?" I take a long sip of my drink too, being companionable and all.

He lifts the toothpick to his mouth and wraps his tongue around the end olive. "Actually," he says, fixing his watery gaze on me, "I've heard kissing helps."

"Is that so?"

"Mmhmm." Leaning across the counter, he presses his shiny lips to mine, working them open with his salty tongue. He tastes like a day at the beach. "Yep, no more tears for me," he says with a contented grin.

There's a dreamy quality to his expression that makes me want to jump across the counter and get lost in his arms. He nuzzles his nose against mine as if he can read my thoughts, then pulls back with a sigh. "I better finish my work with the sharp knife before you get me totally wasted."

"Moi? You poured the drinks, mister!"

We're both smiling hard as he turns back to his task, carving the tomato into neat wedges. He doesn't just chop the red pepper like a normal person, but instead painstakingly carves out the seedy core and slices through the skin to make pretty rings. I don't know if Edward is showing off for me or if this is normal behavior, but he arranges the sliced vegetables on top of the lettuce in an intricate starburst design and drizzles the dressing in a spiral that starts at the center and radiates to the edges of the bowl.

"Wow. We could hang that on the wall."

He chuffs as he carries the bowl to the table. "I don't like to waste an opportunity to experience beauty."

"I've got it! You're a vegetable artist."

"That's a thing?" He grins hard, shaking his head at me. "Come. Sit." Of course, he pulls out my chair.

The square table is set with two woven placemats next to each other, a simple white plate on each. Two pretty daisies weep over the mouth of a porcelain bud vase. Classic, elegant, clean.

Edward scoops out a neat wedge of salad onto my plate. "So, did you want to keep guessing my occupation, or should I put you out of your misery?"

"Tell me! I mean… if you want to."

"Bella, I'm more than happy to tell you what I do. It's just that some women I've dated in the past have found my work a little intimidating."

"Wait, you're a plastic surgeon, aren't you?"

That would fit. All this time I thought he was checking out my boobs, he was calculating how to make them better. Or maybe he's noticed how the right side of my mouth doesn't lift quite as much as the left when I smile.

"I'm the farthest thing from a plastic surgeon. And please, don't take that as any kind of indictment of the field."

"Okay. So how are you the opposite of that?"

"I'm a photographer. I capture what _is_."

"You do weddings?"

"No, not any more. I specialize in portraiture."

"Like Sears?"

His lips hint at a smile. "A bit more intimate."

Wow, I've had Old School figured all wrong. "You do _porn shoots_? No wonder your dates are intimidated!"

Edward regards me with an amused smirk, as usual. "No, I do not do porn shoots. Everything is very tasteful, I assure you."

"Like Glamour Shots?"

"I like to call what I do 'empowerment photography.' My clients come to my studio—"

"You have your own studio?"

"Yes, downstairs. Most of my clients have some kind of body image issue that prevents them from embracing themselves as they are. By really seeing who they are through the lens of my camera, I can help them see the beauty in themselves."

This man is definitely too good to be true. "Your camera is like a very kind mirror."

Edward nods, and the unique light that he shines into the world beams out of those gorgeous eyes. "On a good day, that's exactly how I feel."

"So, you don't do any retouching at all?"

"I don't correct for biology. There's no airbrushing away moles or double chins. No nip and tuck of body parts."

"And your clients are okay with that? I mean, even Instagram has an edit option."

"I'm not out to change a client's physical characteristics. What I do is reflect the beauty in that person's soul on film. When we review the photos together, that woman sees something different than what we've all been taught to see on the surface, and she remembers how she felt about herself during our shoot."

"You keep saying 'she.' Are all your clients women?"

"Mostly. It's not that I won't shoot men; I just find I connect better with women."

 _Of course he does._ "This is what you meant when you said your work is sometimes intimidating to other women?"

"Yes. What I do is intense and intimate. If I don't bring my full self to the experience, I'm not adding any artistic value."

Is it weird to feel proud of him? "I get it."

He gives me one of his gentle smiles. "Ready for the main course?"

For a second, I think he's referring to what I hope will happen after dinner—more kissing and maybe, hopefully, taking things a step or two further—when he reaches for the serving spoon. That works, too. I'm actually starved, and my mouth has been watering since I got here.

"Yes, please." Edward scoops a piece of chicken out of the Dutch oven onto my plate. "I cannot wait to taste your coq _ohhhhhhhhhh shit_!"

We both freeze as my gaffe sinks in. Edward drops the spoon back into the dish and bursts out laughing.

"Tell me how you really feel, Bella."

I'm too mortified to speak.

He cups my chin in his hand, forcing my gaze into his soft gray eyes. "Bella, don't you think I've made a few Hooters comments inside my head since I met you?"

"You have?"

"Um, I'm a man."

"I have definitely noticed that."

"And I've noticed _you_. You're a beautiful, sexy woman. Just because I respect you doesn't mean I don't want to tear your clothes off."

 _Gulp._ "Thanks for clearing that up."

"Anytime." He drags his thumb across my lower lip, watching me with his smoldery eyes as I go into full-on swoon mode.

I'm not sure how I bring myself to eat after that, but the first taste melts on my tongue. "Mmm."

"You like?" He's so damn pleased with himself for pleasing me. It's post-munchkin Edward all over again.

"At the risk of embarrassing myself again, your coq is beyond delicious."

Old School doesn't take the bait. In fact, there's a tinge of pink to his cheeks as he takes his first bite. "Huh, it is pretty good."

It doesn't help to know Edward wants exactly what I want, and yet here we sit, finishing our plates of coq au vin all civilized-like, passing knowing, shy grins between us.

It seems the more time I spend with Edward, the more I crave his presence. The more I learn about him, the more questions I have. I can't remember ever feeling so utterly insatiable.

"Would you like some more?" he asks, and again, I wonder if Edward can read my mind, but he's only offering me what's in the crock pot.

"I'm pleasantly stuffed, thank you."

"Want to wait a bit before dessert?"

"Any chance you'll show me your studio?"

His head snaps up, and he gives me a look I can't quite read. "Sure, if you'd like."

The chance to see Edward in his professional space? "I would really like."

He rounds the island and takes my hand. "Come."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Looks like the cat's out of the bag and the coq's out of the crock pot... but hmm, what's with the unreadable look right there, Old School?

By the way, I loved your guesses about his profession! **EdwardJournals** wins the prize for her long list of possible-yet-outrageous ideas, a plot bunny in each idea! And a few crafty readers picked up on the breadcrumbs dropped by Edward on the ride home from their donut hole extravaganza: the Annie Liebovitz comment and his "help" when Bella attempted to snap his pic in the car. Thanks for your notes and thoughts and curiosity! I love them all! And special thanks to **Pa Trizia** for her help/whip-cracking on the story from here forward! And please don't blame chayasara if you find booboos or questionable punctuation situations. It's all on me for this version!

Here's where I really started to enjoy letting out the seams of the story a bit, giving their date a little more breathing room. Hope you enjoyed!  
See you soon!  
 **XXX ~BOH**

 **PS-** One reader mentioned being confused by "TGIF" which in this context is Hooters' happy hour on Friday, as opposed to the restaurant TGIFriday's. Just making sure... :)


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

He doesn't say a word as he leads me downstairs, flicking switches that bathe the basement with light.

Right before my eyes, Edward morphs into the professional empowerment coach. It's as if the world upstairs is just a place he visits from time to time, but this is where he belongs.

He brings me into the "anteroom" first and offers me a seat at a round table with a single photo album resting on it.

"This is where I meet with my client before the shoot. We look through the album together, talk about what's going to happen, her goals for the shoot... anything else she wants to share with me."

"May I?" I point to the album, and he slides it toward me.

"Of course."

He stands next to me and flips the book open to the first page. "This woman came to see me five years after giving birth to twins." The photo is gritty and real, not what you'd find in a magazine. She is standing in front of a white backdrop, fully clothed, shrouded in half-light, eyes focused off to the side. "Here's our 'before' picture. She clearly does not want to be seen," he explains.

He turns the page, and I can hardly believe my eyes. "Same woman, three hours later." The difference is literally night and day. The woman is completely undressed and positively radiant, her gaze directed straight into the camera as if it's a best friend she's just told her most intimate secret. She is tastefully posed on a wooden stool to hide her private parts, but every ripple, stretch mark, and roll is on display for the eye of the camera.

"How did you do that?"

"'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails." The memory makes him smile. "Really, _really_ loud."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I still remember how I felt when she smiled for me." His voice holds a tenderness that turns me to mush. He points to the next photo, a woman practically curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. "This one... a victim of domestic abuse."

"Oh my god."

He flips the page slowly, and a lump forms in my throat. Same woman, relaxing on her side, naked under a strategically twisted white sheet, chin propped up in her hand. "And… after," he says softly.

"She looks almost flirty there."

"She was incredibly brave."

I reach for his hand and draw it around my shoulders. He stays quiet while I flip through the rest of the album. Every body size and shape is represented. Not every "after" picture is fully bare, but each woman's personality jumps off the page after her session with Edward.

A lump forms in my throat. I am so very grateful to have met this man.

"These photos must go for a fortune."

"They're not for sale. The client pays for the session; everything is theirs to keep. All the photos in this portfolio—along with the few you'll see hanging on the walls—I've been given permission by the models to display here. They help inspire other women who have a hard time getting started."

I stand up and wrap my arms around him. "You are amazing; you know that?"

He shrugs. "This is my super power."

I smile, recalling our conversations about Umbrella Man. "Show me the rest?"

"Said Dorothy to the Wizard."

He leads me into the next room, and I have to laugh when I see the open umbrellas lining one wall. "I guess you had a few to spare."

"I gave you my favorite one."

"Sure." I walk in front of the white screen and imagine placing myself in Edward's capable hands. Heady stuff. "This is where you start?"

"Mmhmm."

"How do you get those pictures in the dark?"

"I turn down the lights and use a spotlight from the back or side to highlight the outline. The goal is for the model to forget I'm here."

"That seems like a waste."

His lips edge up, but he's looking at me the way he did that first time he kissed me. As if he is afraid of something.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you take my picture?"

He freezes, total deer-in-headlights. "I don't know…"

"Please?"

"It's different with you, Bella."

"That's okay. I don't need the therapy part. You don't even have to turn down the lights" Before Old School can say no again, I tug my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. "See? No issues."

"Jesus, Bella." His hands fly to his hips.

"Please?"

He takes a minute to stare at the white lace bra and consider his options.

"Don't expect objectivity. I am really attracted to you."

"I'm really attracted to you, too." I lift my hands up through my hair and clasp them together high above my head. "Come on, Superman, let's fly."

Edward sighs heavily, his surrender complete. He reaches over his shoulder, plucks one of the cameras off the shelf, and drops the strap over his head.

I think of that woman who needed the loud music and the dark, but all I need is Edward and his soft _click-click-click_. He moves in a silent arc around me. It's thrilling—the attention of the lens on my body, knowing how much Edward wants me.

"Look this way," he says, stepping closer, lowering the camera to my breasts. "That's beautiful, Bella. Raise your chin? Nice." _Click-click-click._ He doesn't ask for it, but I reach back and unhook my bra. The camera whirs away while I slide the straps down my arms and drop my bra to the floor.

His voice turns gravelly. "Lift your arms again for me? Beautiful. Turn a little to your right, look at me, yes, right there."

I give him everything he asks for, from every angle. _What a rush!_ Taking off my clothes for Edward is easier than talking to him on the phone.

I reach for my zipper. He pauses for a half-second, clears his throat. The lens zooms forward like a greedy hand reaching into the cookie jar.

"Take the zipper down one tooth at a time. Fold down the waistband… show me a peek of your underpants... perfect." _Click-click-click._ "And wriggle out of your jeans... hold right there... _gooood_ … turn to face the screen. Bend forward from your hips? Good, now look over your shoulder at me... _Shit._ "

The camera drops against his chest. His face is twisted into a tight grimace.

"What's wrong, Edward?"

A low moan escapes him as he scrubs his hands up and down his face. "I'm afraid I just turned this into a porn shoot. I'm so sorry."

I turn to face him. "I'm not."

"Bella, I don't think you understand. I have real feelings for you. This isn't how I pictured undressing you for the first time. I feel like a complete tool, standing here taking pictures of you."

 _Crap. What have I done?_ "This is all my fault. I pushed you into this and then I got carried away."

"It's not your fault. I'm supposed to be the professional."

He swallows hard, his gaze locked to mine as if his eyes might burn to cinders if he looks at my body. Despite all the experience I know Edward has had with women in all stages of undress, he is beyond uncomfortable.

I tug my jeans up to save both of us further embarrassment. Just as I lunge for my tank top, he snags my bra off the floor. I don't know whose cheeks are redder as I straighten up and take the bra out of his hands.

"Thanks," I whisper.

He turns to replace the camera on its shelf, but he lingers longer than necessary with his back turned to me, his shoulders tense and still.

I set a new record putting my clothes back on, then place my hand between his shoulder blades. "Edward, yes, you're the professional photographer, but we're just two people on a date. This doesn't have to be a thing, okay?"

"Are you dressed?" he asks softly.

"Yes."

He exhales as he turns toward me slowly. His gaze drops to my waist, and he gives his head a slow, sad shake. "I'm going to delete those photos, Bella. I promise. If you want, I'll do it right now and you can watch me."

"No. Don't."

His face squinches in confusion. "Don't delete them, or don't do it now?"

I shrug. "I have a picture of _you_ on my phone."

My attempt to lighten the mood works. Edward chuffs. "Yes, that seems like a fair trade."

I step closer, clasp my hands behind Edward's back, and nuzzle my face into the delicious crick of his neck. "Keep the pictures. I loved having you look at me like that."

His arms tighten around my back, and we sway together like a young tree testing its roots in a stiff wind.

I can feel the tension drain from his body. He leaves a soft kiss in my hair. "You know I don't like to brag…"

My lips tug into a smile as I play straight man for him. " _Buuuut_?"

"I made apple pie."

I pull back just enough to see his brilliant smile. We're okay.

"A la mode?"

" _Psshh_. Of course," he answers, just as I knew he would. Old School never does anything half-assed.

"Why are we still standing down here?"

###

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So, THIS happened... not THAT. Thoughts? Now you know why my 12K contest piece is now THREE TIMES AS LONG here! Yup, we're gonna be here a while, folks! I really love the fact that there were so many diverse reactions to the last chapter and a wide range of predictions about what would happen in this chapter. What lies ahead for these two, after the apple pie a la mode is devoured?

Love and kisses to Pa Trizia for helping to steer the ship through uncharted waters, and for my contest team who rolled up their sleeves for me when the pressure was on: Chayasara, Shell Taylor, & Ladyeire. And obviously, to my readers, who keep me smilng, laughing (muchly), cringing (occasionally), and writing.

Just to be clear, I've gone off road here, which means all the grammatical choices are my own from here on out. Do I make some bad decisions? Perhaps, but they're all mine.  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

If I burned the candle at both ends before Edward, at least there was a rest in the middle—a few hours between class and work to catch my breath and organize my thoughts. Now, it seems as if every spare breath and thought I have belong to Edward. Not that I'm complaining.

I can't help but muse that my mother would find this whole situation immensely amusing. She, who always loved to say, "Now, Bella, a man won't chase a bus he's already caught," would get a good chuckle out of the fact that it is Edward who manages to stay just out of reach while pursuing me with remarkable determination. I'm not a game to him; he isn't playing hard to get. In fact, he's pretty damn clear that I've already "gotten" him—in every way but one.

And that one holdout is driving me nuts.

I know Edward wants me; he's told me as much. But there's some set of rules in his head about what should happen when, and I'm not privy to the particulars. All I know is that when a limit is approached, he cuts me off like a boozed-up bar patron.

Last night's incident in his studio set us back big time. Poor Edward, barely able to kiss me on the lips when he dropped me back home, as if he had to average out the "porn shoot" with a chaste kiss to set us back on second-date track.

The tortured texts I woke to this morning tell me Edward spent a rough night beating himself up further:

 ** _I confess I did look through all the pictures this morning, but only to copy all the photos to a flash drive for you and delete off my camera and the cloud._**

 ** _Kept this one for my phone *wink*_** [Here, Edward attached a pure head shot of me.]

 ** _Can I see you before Thursday?_** **_Free after class today?_**

The only way I can figure to ease his mind is to go with his flow and not seem overly eager to move forward faster than he is comfortable. It won't be easy. Old School grows hotter by the minute, and his old-fashioned courting routine might just break me.

Holy hell! Did he have to show up here at the library entrance, wearing his Meatloaf Monday blazer and holding his cheer-up-Mom bouquet of the week? So not fair.

I rise slowly from the library steps, imagining my feet tied to massive stone blocks so I don't leap forward and tackle the man to the ground. Despite an early alarm and a boring-ass lecture on supply-and-demand curves, I am a lightning rod waiting for his spark—and there it is: that jolt of recognition when he first sees me. His gorgeous smile breaks across his gorgeous face, sending shivers up and down my spine. Will I ever _not_ respond this way to him? I can't imagine it.

I'm giddy before he even takes my hand; his soft kiss on my cheek makes me swoon. "Hello, beautiful."

"Hello, handsome." I think I might be nauseating, and I don't even give a shit. "Those tulips are so pretty. Your mom is going to love them."

"They're not for my mom." _Hello, dimple._

"No? You got another girl at Shady Acres?"

"I got another girl right here," he says, pressing the cellophane to my chest.

"These are for me?" He nods. "What's your mother going to say when you show up empty-handed? First, the umbrella; now, her flowers. She's going to think I'm just after you for your stuff."

He leans in and whispers into my ear. "I'm going to pick her up an orchid in the gift shop."

 _Did I just beat out Mother Cullen for the choice bouquet?_

"Ha! Good thing I'm not the jealous type, or I'd start to wonder about you and every florist in town!"

The way he says, "Mmhmm," confirms I have zero to worry about, florist or not.

"So, how was Professor Monotone today?"

"Thrilling, as usual."

"Excellent." He fidgets with something inside his front pocket, and I realize he's turning the USB stick—his reason for meeting me here—over and over between his fingers. "Were you heading inside to study, or do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

"Is that a trick question?" I throw my backpack over one shoulder, and Old School promptly removes it and slings it over his back, offering me his arm. "Okay, fine. Take it," I grumble cheerfully, as if Old School would ever let me carry my own bag.

"This is so light! Aren't there any books in here?"

"Nope, just my laptop… and my uniform."

"Oh! No wonder it weighs nothing!" He doesn't even try to contain his smirk. I think about punching his arm, but last time I tried that, I came away with sore knuckles.

"Shush, you!"

He tucks his arm—and me—closer into his side. "So, I've been thinking about Thursday…" I catch his smile in profile. It's Monday, and he's thinking about our date three days away.

"Very smooth shift of topic there. Yes?"

"I know it's a little cheesy, but I thought maybe we could head down to the pier and check out all those tacky tourist attractions?"

"I kind of love that idea. Can we hit Madame Tussaud's?"

"Only if you'll do Ripley's."

"Deal."

"Perfect. Crabs or Mexican?"

"Crabs could be entertaining." Getting down and dirty with Edward and hammers and a pile of crabs tossed onto brown paper-covered tables? _Hell yes_.

He turns to regard me head-on. Even through his sunglasses, I can see his eyes dancing. "I'll book us at the Crab House. And for dessert…"

"Apple cider doughnuts from the street vendors!"

"How'd you know?" He's grinning so hard, the smile ripples meet his ears.

"Wild guess."

He stops just in front of the coffee shop door. "Is it bad that you know all my secrets already?"

I could mention exactly what I don't know: how he looks with his clothes off, exactly how he moves that body I crave so hard, what kind of sounds he makes in the throes of passion. What are his fantasies? How do I touch him to drive him wild?

But I've made a pact with myself to put all those thoughts right out of my head. Or at least pretend to.

I cup his cheek and give him a little love tap. "Yep, it's all downhill from here."

As he pulls the door open for me, he shakes his head and chuckles—it's a good look on him. We both have the same idea when we see a small out-of-the-way table in the corner.

I claim the seat with its back to two walls, all the better for viewing naked pictures of myself. He drapes the strap of my backpack over my chair. "The chocolate croissants are really good here."

"How are you not five hundred pounds?" I ask. "Or are you wearing Spanx?"

He shakes a finger at me. "There you go again… always thinking about my underwear."

 _One of these days,_ I think, but say nothing.

"What can I get you?"

"How about a large black coffee and that stick in your pocket?"

 _Oops. I said that._

And he heard it, judging by the scratchy throat-clearing, the _you-naughty-girl_ lift of his brow, and quick shake of his head. Edward's hand dives into his pocket. The flash drive appears on the table, his finger firmly on top of it.

"Normally, we'd go over these together, you know, if this had been an actual shoot." He lifts his finger as if it weighs thirty pounds, sighs, and stuffs his hand back into his pocket. "But as I said, this is everything, and it's all yours to keep."

I place my palm on top of the precious files. "Thank you."

He forces a smile. "I'm gonna go get that coffee now."

My curiosity is through the roof. I whip out my laptop and hold my breath while the files download in a fast-forward retelling of our ill-fated evening.

 _Wow._ There I am, all right, in all my full-color glory, head-to-toe coverage in a few, but loads of close-ups, too. Even in the wider angle shots, I barely recognize myself—that feeling of wild abandon coming through with startling clarity. The camera lens—no, _Edward_ —seeing straight into my soul and reflecting it back to me. Just the way he described it to me.

I know I'm one of the lucky ones—blessed with good genes and a healthy attitude toward my body, once I passed through that awkward too-tall-for-every-boy-in-the-class stage. I may not be an expert at relationships, but the physical dimension has never been a problem for me. Not that I strip off my clothes for every Tom, Dick, and Harry, and I've certainly never considered posing like this for anyone else, but I'm not conflicted about how I earn my tips.

Still, there's a far cry between unconflicted and stoked. Reviewing these pictures, there's no question how much I enjoyed posing nude for the camera or how incredibly talented Edward is.

A loud throat-clearing signals Edward's return. He stands awkwardly, holding the coffee—just one—on the opposite side of the table. His cheeks are pink, which could be from the hot drink at his chin, but more likely my boyfriend is blushing.

He sets down my coffee at a safe distance from my computer, then sinks into the seat across from me. Experience has taught me when the guy on the other side of the bar is not going to initiate the conversation, and Edward is clearly in that place.

I have a bit of a hard time finding the right words myself.

"Edward, these are… Does it sound conceited if I say these pictures are just gorgeous? Because I don't mean _I'm_ gorgeous, but—"

"You are spectacular, Bella." He looks relieved to have had the excuse to tell me so.

Now I'm the one who has to look away.

He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his, still toasty-warm from the hot drink. "I'm glad you can see what I saw in those photos, what I felt in that room with you. We have some mad chemistry together."

"I figured you made everyone feel that way—being your super power and all. It was just so easy to let go with you. You know I've never done anything like this before, right?"

He huffs. "Neither have I."

Color me confused. "Huh?"

"Bella, I really hope you don't think for one moment that's how I conduct myself with my clients."

"No, of course not. I know you're the consummate professional. But what about with a… non-client female?" It already pains me to consider him with another woman.

"God, no. I've never brought a date into my studio before. Of course," he says with a soft chuckle, "I've never made coq au vin before either."

"Let's blame the whole thing on the coq."

"While I appreciate the compliment… on my _cooking…_ it really was _you._ You're so comfortable in your own skin, you can't help but radiate that kind of energy. Clearly, I fed off that, and the fact that you're perfect…"

"Edward, stop, _please_."

He smiles, drawing his thumb across my knuckles. "Okay. But can I tell you that if these photos weren't so intimate, I'd want to show them in a gallery somewhere?" His wistful smile tugs at my heart. "One more thing, and then I promise I will stop. Those fifteen minutes with you on the other side of my camera were the easiest I've ever had. I've been doing this long enough to know what true inspiration feels like and exactly how rare it is. I just want to say thank you for that."

My eyes fill with tears. _This man_. How did I get so damn lucky?

Before I can even begin to express my gratitude, he kisses me on the cheek and stands up to leave. "I've got to run. Meatloaf waits for no man."

Somehow, I have a feeling he's wrong. I think they'd wait for Umbrella Man. "Say hi to Mom for me."

He turns back to wink. I melt.

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Yes, let's blame the coq! Wow, you guys blew me away with your thoughtful reviews on the last chapter. Whether you know it or not, your questions/insights/challenges help me see the story in a new light. I frequently tweak future chapters based on your input, as I did with this one after reading your comments on chapter 7. Isn't it cool to know that the story would literally not be the same without you guys? Hey, I know what true inspiration feels like too! Thank you for being mine.

X's and O's to my girl Pa Trizia for giving her heart to this story.  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

Edward's patience with just about everything does not include waiting for our predetermined dates—a.k.a. my days off—to see me. I tease him to death for making the flimsiest excuses possible, the absolute flimsiest being a dire need for Hooters hot wings for dinner, but the truth is, I love his surprise visits.

After two days without an unplanned pop-in, I've come to appreciate the mad genius of Edward's courting methods. I miss him like crazy even though Friday's "happened to be walking by the library when you got out of class" was just a quick slideshow of the pictures from our date at the pier. A square of chocolate out of the whole bar is never enough, but it's so much better than no chocolate at all.

 _It's for the best,_ I tell myself, forcing my nose back into my accounting text. If I hadn't told Edward about my two midterms this week, he'd probably be distracting me right now—though, come to think of it, he has yet to drop in on me unannounced at home. Whether that would constitute crossing one of his invisible lines or because he's terrified of Mrs. Cope, I don't know, but the result is the same—no Edward.

I'm about three hours into my little pity party when the doorbell rings. I don't care if it's a Jehovah's Witness; anything is better than studying cost of goods sold. I fly down the steps, yelling, "I've got it, Mrs. C!"

I yank open the front door, revealing a completely startled Edward. "You didn't even ask who was there! What if I were a psycho serial killer?"

"Oh! You're right!" I swing the door shut in his face, giggling out loud as I peek out through the peephole at an even more shocked Edward.

He aims a nasty stink-eye toward the tiny glass circle, then raps the door with his knuckles.

"Who's _therrrre_?"

"Your friendly neighborhood psycho killer."

"Why didn't you say so? Come right in." I open the door again and he walks through before I can attempt to be funny again.

"You're a riot," he says, leaning in to kiss me even though he's not too happy with me. "I just stopped by to drop off a little care package."

I hadn't noticed the bright pink goody bag in his hands. As cheery as it is, the poor thing pales in comparison to Edward's face, even when he's attempting to give me dirty looks. I reach for the bag, and he snaps it away.

"Have you been good?"

"Of course! I've been holed up in my room for hours, slaving over hot accounting problems."

While he studies my face, deciding whether to believe me, the enticing smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafts into my nostrils.

"Oh my gosh! Did you _bake cookies_ for me?"

He gives me a no-biggie shrug. "Maybe."

I step closer and plant a huge kiss on his lips. "You are an awesome boyfriend." He is the most awesome boyfriend anyone could ever have, but as soon as the word leaves my lips, I cringe and pray he won't be offended. The word "boyfriend" just feels way too frivolous to apply to a man like Edward. "Man-friend" would be more accurate, but who says that?

His warm chuckle fills my ears, which join my eyes, mouth, and nose as the happiest facial features on the planet. _Okay, phew_.

"You might want to taste the cookies before you make any sweeping declarations." He produces the bag, and I reach inside.

"True," I say, even though it's not. He already had me at hello, brightening this miserable day just by showing up. I play along, bringing the warm, soft cookie to my lips and taking the moaniest bite ever taken out of any cookie. "Obviously, keep your day job because you're good at taking pictures, too, but if you ever need a little income on the side, you could totally sell these puppies."

He huffs. "Considering how many batches I had to throw away before I got the consistency right, and then how many I sacrificed to the oven gods, I'd say they're more of a loss leader."

"Seriously? Have you never made cookies from scratch before?"

"Never. I usually just pick some up at Schubert's or plop the Pillsbury dough globs onto a cookie sheet. I figured you were working so hard, the least I could do is make you some authentic cookies."

"Wow."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I know. First the coq, now the cookies. What's next, Crêpe Suzette?"

"I hope not! I don't even know what that is!"

"Neither do I."

"Don't you want one of these?" I ask, reaching in for another.

His eyes glaze over as he stares at my lips, watching me consume the cookie, bite by delicious bite. "I'd much rather watch you."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "You know there's a word for that?"

"Yes," he answers with a smile that turns the tiny flecks of gray in his eyes silver. "I believe the word is 'happy.'"

"I was gonna say something else, but yours works, too."

He dangles the bag in front of me. "Can I trust you with these?"

"Absolutely not. You should definitely stay here and monitor the situation."

"Wish I could, but I have a client this afternoon."

"Oh." _Buzzkill and a half._ "In that case…" I nab the bag and console myself with another cookie.

"All right then. Good luck, Bella."

"Yeah, you too."

He turns to leave, then spins back around. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you…"

"Hmm?"

He slips his hand behind my neck and draws me into a slow kiss. I should have been ready for "his move," but I'd already begun to imagine the woman who was about to undress for Edward's camera. He slips his tongue between my lips, a cruel reminder of what he's about to take away. The chocolate chip cookies are no substitute for Edward's sweet kisses.

"What time do you get off work tonight?"

"I'm closing."

His "oh" is as sad as mine was. "Don't they know you have a big test in the morning?"

I shrug. "Not really."

I don't like to handcuff Emmett with my schedule. I know if I need a favor, he'll accommodate me, but unless it's really important, I'd rather stay as flexible as possible. So far, so good. Edward doesn't agree, judging by the scowl that takes over his face. I can see he's tempted to say something but, thankfully, decides not to.

"Text me after your exam tomorrow?"

"Sure. Thanks again for my care package. That was really sweet of you."

"My pleasure." He leaves me with a peck on the cheek and a hole in my heart that doesn't make any sense.

If I take these cookies upstairs, I will eat them all and feel even worse. I find Mrs. Cope hiding in the kitchen, fussing over the stove.

"Can I make you a cup of tea, dear?"

"Only if you'll help me eat these cookies."

"I suppose I could be persuaded. They do smell wonderful. I didn't realize your man was a baker in addition to being a photographer."

I pull down one of her pretty little plates and set out two cookies. "He's not."

"Well, that was awfully kind of him to stop by."

"Yes."

Mrs. Cope watches me silently while I busy myself with tea bags and spoons and napkins that don't really need to be folded or tucked just so under the saucers. The kettle whistles, and she pours the hot water for both of us.

"Edward had to head home to see a client."

Mrs. Cope understands what is about to go down at Edward's. She happens to be an amazing listener, which is probably why she's one of very few people I actually open up to.

"Oh?" She takes a cookie and chews thoughtfully. "Does that bother you?"

"I didn't think it would…" I dunk my tea bag… and dunk and dunk.

"It bothers you."

"It shouldn't."

"Ah," she says kindly, "since when do feelings pay any attention to _shoulds_ and _shouldn'ts_?"

A weary sigh floats over my teacup. "He's a professional, and I know everything that happens in his studio is completely innocent—and beautiful, actually. It's completely irrational for me to be jealous of whoever is with him right now."

"Agreed. These cookies are delicious. Are you sure you don't want another?"

"Yes."

She reaches for the other cookie. "Bella, it's perfectly okay to feel how you feel. You know that, right?"

"No. I mean, Edward and I discussed this. He told me how some women he's dated in the past felt intimidated by his work. I _knew_ that wouldn't be me." I take a careless sip and burn my tongue. _Fuck me._

"And how were you so sure?"

"I know he doesn't look at any of his clients the way he looks at me."

Mrs. Cope looks up from her tea, a knowing glint in her eye. "So, what's changed?"

 _What's changed is he kicked my ass out of his studio before I could finish taking off my clothes, and even though I understand why, rationally, I guess it still stings._ I take a slower sip of hot tea, choosing my words equally as carefully.

"Sometimes, I get the feeling that Edward is afraid to… you know… _be_ with me."

"That's certainly not the impression I've gotten. He comes around to school and your job almost every day, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"And when he's near you…"

"Yes?" How pathetic is it that I need her to tell me what I already know?

"Bella, dear." She pats my hand. "Can't you see that Edward can hardly keep his hands off you?"

"He manages," I grumble, feeling very much like a spoiled child who can't wait until Christmas to unwrap her present.

Mrs. Cope smiles. "Yes, he does. He obviously cares very much about you to take his time like that. No offense to you, Bella, but that James fellow who used to come around… I never wanted to hurt your feelings, but…"

"You don't have to say it, Mrs. Cope. I know. I'm not going to see him again." Once you've tasted filet mignon, you don't go back to Spam.

"Good." She sits back in her seat and folds her hands in front of her. "Not to sound like an old lady here, but your generation takes everything so fast. You've found yourself a true gentleman in Edward. These things take time."

"I understand what you're saying. I'm just feeling sorry for myself because he—" _Rejected me._

"Didn't treat you like one of his clients?"

That takes all the wind out of my sails. I slump back in my chair. Is that what I really want? To be treated like one of his clients? Of course it isn't.

"Thanks, Mrs. C."

"Anytime, dear. You know, Edward is the kind of man who needs to be shared with the world—just as he understands he must share you. But that doesn't mean either of you gets less. You just need to remember all those pieces of yourselves that you set aside only for each other, even if they all haven't happened yet. You know what I mean, right?"

A deep blush comes over me. "Yes."

"All right then, young lady. I believe you have stalled long enough from your studies, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

.

.

.

If I had money to burn, this would be the perfect night to Uber it home from work. At least I can use my bus ride for one last cram session before bed. My ass is dragging at 11:45, when I finally shuffle outside.

A car door opens and shuts, jarring the otherwise quiet night. My head snaps up toward the parking lot, and there's Old School, jogging toward me.

"Edward?"

"Hey. Thought you might want a ride home tonight."

"How long have you been out here waiting for me?"

He shrugs his yeah-I-baked-you-cookies shrug. "A while."

I'm too tired and grateful to do anything but fall into his arms and deliver my answer directly into his shirt. "Thank you. I would love that."

He breaks our hug and practically carries me to his car. "C'mon, let's get you home."

My plan to review my notes falls apart the second my head sinks into the back of his seat. I hear Edward get into the driver's side and start the car, but I cannot convince my eyes to open. I can only hope this won't be one of those ugly day-sleeps where I wake myself up with a loud snort and a trail of drool dripping down my chin.

" _Belllll-la_ … you're _ho-ome_." Wispy lips tickle at my ear, waking me ever so gently from my short sleep. "I'm sorry. I hate to wake you, but I didn't think it would be appropriate for me to carry you up to your room."

I giggle because that's exactly what Edward was doing just now in my car-dream. He helps me out of his car and up to the front door.

"Thanks so much for the lift."

"Anytime," he says. He cocks his head to one side and asks, "Why are you smiling?"

"Am I?"

"Yeah."

"I guess I was just thinking that you probably don't pick up your clients at midnight to drive them home from work."

His eyes light with recognition. "No, I definitely don't." His arms slip around my back as he steps closer. "You know what else I don't do with them?"

I close my eyes in the sweetest anticipation. "Tell me, Edward."

His whisper-soft kiss leaves me dizzy. "Good night, beautiful. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I don't think anyone's ever said, "Good night, beautiful," to me. Sigh.

I thought it might be fun to push Bella's comfort zone a wee bit there. She's been awfully sure of herself, right? I think that wave of insecurity probably took her quite by surprise... but leave it to Old School to put her fears to rest. A bunch of you have asked about Edward's backstory, aka WHY IS HE SINGLE? Yep, that's a good question. Pa T asked me, too. It'll be along. Patience. *wink*  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

 ** _Survived. 1 down, 1 to go._**

 ** _Attagirl! Coffee or sleep?_**

 ** _Sleep now, coffee later._**

 ** _How about I stop by after MM, around 2?_**

 ** _Sounds great. Say hi to Mom :)_**

 ** _Will do. Night night, Bella._**

I wake up groggy as hell, the light streaming through my windows already fading into late afternoon. _Crap!_ I bolt upright in my bed. 2:55? I've missed Edward's visit. And coffee delivery! Why didn't anyone wake me?

I know the answer. Neither Mrs. Cope nor Edward would wake me if they thought I needed the sleep, which I obviously did. Meanwhile, four missed texts, three of them from Edward:

1:45: ** _Mom says hi. On my way to you now…_**

1:58: ** _Your coffee will be in the fridge when you wake up!_**

2:31: **_Hope you're feeling okay. Let me know? XXX_**

And one from Emmett at 2:03: **_Rosie's sick as a dog. Need you in by 4. New bar trainee starting._**

Ugh, the two ends of the candle have burned to the middle today. I missed my Edward time. It's gonna be a sucky night at work. Still gotta hit the finance book when I get home. _Annnnd_ I have my period.

 _Are you listening to your whiny self?_

 _You have a job you like well enough, great co-workers, and you're socking away good money for once._

 _You are halfway through the semester with your head well above water. So, big whoop, you have to work hard… that never killed anybody._

 _Edward. Sigh… Edward. Remind me how I got so damn lucky?_

My feet carry me to the kitchen where the promised coffee awaits, though now it will be _iced_ coffee. I can't help but smile, picturing a cheery Edward on the front stoop, holding the steaming cup, eagerly anticipating my grateful response to his unending generosity: coffee, patience, midnight rides, spontaneity, thoughtfulness… it seems the man's reserves are infinite. And all this, as Mrs. Cope pointed out, on top of Edward's loyalty to his mother and all those clients he's helped. Damn, I hope he knows how much I appreciate him.

No better time than the present to tell him. I scroll to Edward's last text— ** _Hope you're feeling okay. Let me know? XXX_** —and start to tap back a thank you.

No, if I really have something important to say, I should _say_ it so he can hear it. Old-school style.

 _Here goes nothing…_ His phone is ringing. My stomach jumps. How on earth do I still get butterflies?

"Bella? Are you okay?" His greeting comes out in an anxious rush.

"Yes, fine."

" _Oh_. Okay." He catches his breath. "I wasn't expecting you to call."

"Are you… in the middle of something?" I've been so buried lately, I can't even remember if he said he had a client today. I should've texted him first.

"Nothing that can't wait. Did you find your coffee?"

"Yes, and that's why I called."

"Oh?"

"Well, not about the coffee, per se, but to thank you. For stopping by. And bringing me treats. And picking me up from work. And baking me cookies. And basically, for taking care of me." Holy shit, that was a mouthful.

His response is gravelly and sexy as hell. "Isn't that what awesome boyfriends do?"

"I don't know. I've never had one before."

He laughs into the phone, and I can almost feel him sitting next to me. "Well, trust me—it is. And you're more than welcome. It's absolutely my pleasure to take care of you, Bella."

"I wasn't sure you knew how grateful I am… for everything. So I thought I'd _call._ "

"How very old-school of you." I can hear his smile.

"Yeah, I figured I'd try it out."

"And?"

"I guess it's not too bad." I stretch my legs out under the table and take a long drag on the coffee.

"So, are we going to be doing this instead of texting now, do you think?"

"I don't know yet. Let's see how it goes."

"Okay." I picture him tucking the phone under his cheek, getting comfortable, maybe even closing his eyes.

"So, Edward?"

"Yes, Bella?"

"Seeing as I've never had an awesome boyfriend before, I'm not exactly sure how to… be an awesome girlfriend back."

"Let me assure you, you're doing just fine."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Because it doesn't feel like I'm doing anything, while you, on the other hand, keep dropping in with little care packages and showing up when I am bone-tired to give me a ride home."

"Hmm, makes me sound a bit desperate, huh?" He chuckles, thank God.

"Makes you sound amazing, if you ask me."

"Well, there you go. You let me dote on you. You take a compliment. You eat the cookies I bake and enjoy the coffee and don't give me a hard time when I want to do something nice. Do you know how gratifying that is for me?"

"I don't think that's enough, Edward. Just letting you be amazing is not enough to qualify me as awesome."

"Whoa, now. Wait just a second. Don't you think _I_ should be the one to decide what constitutes your awesomeness as _my_ girlfriend?"

"Hmm…"

"No, really. Think about it, Bella. It's entirely possible some other guy would have a whole different set of criteria—not that I plan to give you the chance to find out, mind you—but isn't that what makes the world go around?"

Edward and his plans. _Sigh_.

"I must not have enough coffee in me yet because you are starting to make sense."

His laughter rolls into my ear. "You just need to surrender to the old-school logic, that's all."

Yeah, I surrendered weeks ago, and he damn well knows it. "All right, Old School. Let me pose the question another way. Is there anything at all I could do to be a _more_ awesome girlfriend?"

I'm ready for his hem-and-haw and no-you're-perfect routine, so it surprises me when he says, "Actually, yes."

I'm not quite sure how I feel about the answer, now that I've forced it, but we've come too far to turn back now. "All right. What can I do?"

"Well, I didn't want to bring this up before your other midterm, but—"

"Come on, Edward. Now you have to."

"Fine. I'd like you to come away with me for a long weekend. Just you, me, a pair of bicycles, and a vineyard… or five."

I move the phone away from my face. I feel like an absolute fool for crying right now, and I'm glad he can't see me. _This_ is how he wants me to prove my awesomeness? By accompanying the most romantic man I've ever met on the most romantic trip ever!

"Bella? _Bella?_ Uh-oh," I hear him say. "Too soon?"

I wipe away my tears as if he'll hear them and snap the phone to my cheek. "No! No, not too soon."

"You'll come, then?"

"Of course! Are you kidding?"

"That's… awesome!" He laughs; I laugh; we're both a little giddy. I might have to do more of this phone-chatting. So far, so good. "I guess all we have to work out is the timing. Do you think you could get three days in a row off work?"

With Rose out sick and me training the new girl, Emmett will probably give me anything I want after this. "Let me discuss it with my boss in a couple of days? This isn't the best time to ask, but I'm pretty sure I can swing it."

"Perfect. Just so you know, _if you're comfortable_ , that is, I was thinking… _hoping…_ we might stay together."

An eighty-person gospel choir just sang "Hallelujah!" in my head. "You mean, share a room, the two of us?"

"I can book a second room, no problem. No pressure."

Damn, I wish I could see his face right now. "Edward Cullen?"

"Yes?" he answers, magnificently open and vulnerable.

"I would _love_ to share a room with you."

"Yeah?" He goes from elated to grouchy in no time at all. "You did that on purpose."

"A little," I admit, "but I think you liked it."

"Don't you have to be at work soon?"

It's my turn to laugh into his ear. "Good talk, Edward. We should try this again sometime."

"Goodbye, beautiful. Thanks for calling. You have a wonderful evening."

The smile on my face doesn't fade, even after I meet the new girl at work—a busty redhead named Tory, who gets one order wrong for every three she gets right and carries herself with the poise of a giraffe on roller skates.

And why should I worry because… wine country with Edward. And we're sharing a room.

 _Swoon._

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Well THAT's not romantic at ALL! ;) So... how long do you think it'll take Bella to clear her schedule? Heh. How long would it take YOU? Maybe she should wait until she's done with her period. Sigh... she called him. OKAY, now which of you people made the point that it was Bella's turn to make a sweet gesture? See? She was thinking that too.  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

How am I supposed to study with Edward's offer sitting on my brain? He hasn't brought up our Napa Valley adventure again since Monday, as if by not giving me any details, I won't be distracted. _Wrong_ , awesome boyfriend. You are so wrong.

After my final review session on Wednesday morning, I convince myself that a diversion, just a quick trip to buy myself one new outfit for the trip, will clear my head. It's all for the good of my studying, which will be so much more productive after I get this out of my system.

During the whole bus ride to my favorite little boutique, I indulge my imagination, and _boy_ , has that thing learned to run wild since meeting Edward. I close my eyes, and I conjure Edward, just ahead on his bike, leading me through neat lines of grapes growing fat and juicy under the warm Napa sun. He passes tastes of wine from his tongue to mine when the guide isn't looking; we swallow more than we should. Our lazy, boozy lunch leaves us languid and slow for our return ride, until it kicks in that we are gonna get naked as soon as we get back to that room! We race to the hotel, arrive breathless, and even in my fantasy, I can't find a smidgeon of restraint once we reach our room.

Shopping is mildly distracting, and bonus: I come away with not one but two kicky little sundresses that will look great romping through rows of grapevines. I focus better later that evening, at least long enough to cram the concepts into my head, and well enough that I don't bomb my exam in the morning.

The hungry and thirsty weekend Hooters crowd doesn't allow for daydreams, especially with Jessica Rabbit to supervise and Rose home with the flu. It's all hands on deck. Even Emmett is behind the bar, pouring drinks, much to some of the customers' dismay.

"You want a show or you want your booze?" he snaps when they complain.

"Come on, at least shake your ass for us," one wise guy shoots back.

Emmett, being Emmett, spins around and twerks, and the crowd erupts in cheers.

"Better be careful, boss," I warn him at the taps. "You might just get yourself a full-time gig back here."

"Ha! Over Rosie's dead body!"

Closing up on Sunday night, Emmett stuffs an extra wad of twenties into my hand. "You were a rock star this week, Bella. Thanks for getting us over the hump."

I feel very much like the rag I just used to wipe down the bar—wrung out and finished—but it's always nice to be appreciated. "You think Rose will be back soon?"

"Should be back on her feet Tuesday, if not tomorrow."

"Would this be a good time to ask you for next weekend off?"

.

.

.

Edward answers my **_Good news: next Fri-Sun off!_** text as if he's been waiting for it with his phone in hand.

 ** _I'll make the plans!_**

 ** _And you don't have to miss MM!_**

.

.

.

"Don't forget, we're only a phone call away. Edward can have me back here in ninety minutes if you need anything."

"That's sweet, Bella, but 9-1-1 is only five minutes away," Mrs. C says. "And no offense, but they're a lot cuter than you. Now, go on and stop worrying about me."

"There's roast beef and turkey for sandwiches, and the enchiladas need to be reheated at—"

"Three-fifty for fifteen minutes, yeah, yeah." Mrs. Cope tut-tuts me out of the kitchen. "You've cooked enough food for an army, and I'm just one little, old lady."

"Well, who knows, Mrs. C? You might just make yourself a new friend or two."

"I'm too old for new friends." Mrs. Cope checks her watch. "Now, where is that man of yours? You two need to get on the road."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you're trying to get rid of me!"

"Of course I'm trying to get rid of you! And I don't want you to waste one thought on me while you're away. You two enjoy your romantic getaway. You earned this, Bella. You deserve to have a wonderful time."

The doorbell rings, and my heart leaps out of my chest as it does every single time Edward comes for me. Mrs. Cope doesn't even try to beat me to the door.

 _Damn!_ Edward could be a walking, breathing ad for _GQ_ weekend wear. From the sexy silver frames of his sunglasses to the squishy soles of his gray suede Vans—extra sexy without socks, thank you very much—the man is nothing short of edible. We might not make it to the Golden Gate Bridge before I pounce.

Then again, I'd forgotten I was wearing a skimpy, white eyelet dress until I saw Edward looking at me as if I were his breakfast. We _really_ need to get out of here.

No such luck with Old School, who greets me with a promising, "Good morning, beautiful," and a kiss on my cheek before crossing the living room to deliver a basket of goodies to Mrs. Cope. "I did not bake any of these myself, so they should be delicious."

Mrs. Cope peers into the basket. "Oh my. You're spoiling both of us."

"That's the goal," he answers.

"Thank you for the treats, Edward. Now, you kids should really hit the road." She shoos Edward away like a fly that won't leave.

"Okay, okay, we're gone!" Edward chuckles as he hurries to follow her instructions.

He grasps my hand, throws my duffel over his shoulder, and pulls me out the door, where his car is revved and ready, just like the two of us. I know the drill by now. He opens my door; I get in, close my eyes, and wait for his world-tipping kiss.

It's been three days since one of his impromptu visits, and expectations for this weekend are through the roof—which might scare me, except come on. It's Edward, he who does not disappoint. And neither does that kiss.

 _Sigh._

He sets my bag down in the back seat next to his, and… be still my heart… his camera bag. I've already decided I haven't seen anything sexier than Edward holding a camera to his eye, though I am guessing his doing so with less clothes on would definitely be sexier.

He slides into the driver's seat and leans across to kiss me again. "I'm so happy you made this work, Bella."

I'm excited beyond words. In fact, I finally appreciate the meaning of "dumbstruck" because that's exactly what I am. I'm grateful he doesn't tease me about it, but shifts the car into reverse, and off we go.

He takes my hand as soon as we hit the main road, glancing over at me as if it's all too good to be true. Or maybe that's me, projecting.

"Would you like to turn on some music?"

"Got any Nine Inch Nails?"

He checks to make sure I'm joking. "I've got satellite. Have at it."

Well, this could be interesting. "Really?"

"Sure." He watches with an amused grin while I play with the dial.

"How about the oldies station?" I tease, pausing first at _90's on 9_.

His smile twists into a grimace that makes me giggle. "The nineties are _oldies_?"

Poor Edward. I spin the knob, scrolling past all the pop stations until I reach _SiriusXM-Love_. "How do you feel about this one?"

"No comment," he says with a neutral expression fixed on his face.

"How about Elvis? Margaritaville? Pearl Jam… anything?"

"Whatever you like, Bella." He gives nothing away.

"Metal, reggae, hip hop… _Oh_! Country! Look, it's called 'The Highway'…how perfect is that?" I push the dial and turn up the volume just enough to get a coherent signal. "You like?"

"If you're happy, I'm happy."

I am happy. And so is Blake Shelton.

 _"Wonderin' how I ever got your little hand in mine  
Lookin' over at ya like, 'Ain't she beautiful?'"_

Could not have planned that any better. Edward squeezes my hand and chuckles. I can tell he doesn't mind the station but this is not his jam.

"What would you be listening to if you were alone?"

"Depends where I'm going, what time it is. I like to listen to 'All Things Considered' or 'On Point.' If those aren't on, CNN is my fallback—unless there's a football game on."

"You listen to football on the radio?"

"Mmhmm. Or I pop in an audiobook, but nothing too involved. My mind wanders too much."

"What about music?"

"I tend to listen to hits— _Pulse, Blend, Alt Nation,_ that kind of thing—so I can keep my music library relevant for my clients."

"But what about _you_? What speaks to your soul?"

A slow smile spreads over his face. "You want to know my soul?" He lifts my hand to his lips and leaves a soft kiss on my knuckles. "I guess my soul is a bit eclectic. I like Bruce, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2, the Rolling Stones, Duke Ellington when the mood strikes…" He glances over to see my reaction, or maybe to see if I know who Duke Ellington is.

"Nice."

"I like pure instrumental when I need to think—acoustic guitar is my favorite." He looks up shyly. "How'd I do?"

"You did great. There is no right answer. I just want to know you better."

"I'm pretty easy, Bella. What you see is what you get." What I see is damn near perfect.

"Can I ask you a deeply invasive question you don't have to answer?"

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "I can hardly wait."

"Why are you still single?" As the words pass my lips, I want to kick myself. If the answer has anything at all to do with a puny peenie or being terrible in the sack, I could have discovered that for myself in just a few short hours without dragging both of us through this embarrassment. "I just meant, you're such an amazing guy, and I…" He shoots me one of his patient smiles while I deepen my own grave. "Never mind. You _really_ don't need to answer that." _Shit._

"Bella, I don't mind the question. I just don't know if I can answer it for you—or for myself, for that matter. Sometimes, I worry that what passes for insight is just an elaborate system of excuses I've designed to protect myself."

"From what?"

"From discovering I'm an asshole."

" _What_? You? Edward, you are the least assholish person I've ever met."

His eyes crinkle at the edge of his Ray-Bans. "I don't feel like an asshole when I'm with you."

"Well, that's something, I guess." We both chuckle softly at his sweet, weird confession.

"It's definitely something," he says. "I'm just not sure what." I recognize this expression on his face, but I still don't understand it. He looked at me the same way before he kissed me that first time.

He stares straight ahead at the road for a bit, and I can't tell if he's finished with this conversation or how he's feeling about anything. "I hate to tell you, but I don't have any big, dramatic answer to your question, no traumatic breakup that left me unable to love again. I come from a loving home, no fear of commitment here."

"Oh, jeez, that's awful," I tease.

He grins at my attempt to lighten the mood, then continues. "My parents were happily married, young and long, before my dad became ill and passed on."

"Aww, I'm sorry, Edward."

"Best I can tell you is I used to travel constantly, back when I was freelancing, and I never really had enough time to get attached to anyone." He shakes his head and huffs. "You may have noticed I like to take my time and get to know someone before… well, before taking a girl away for the weekend."

His right cheek pinks up, probably the other side too, but I can't see it.

"At the age of 35, when I finally figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up, I threw myself into learning as much as I could. It was more than the technical skills—how to shoot in the dark, how to edit the photos without editing content, yada, yada—I had to learn how to talk to my clients."

"Wow, all of that seems so natural for you."

"I've been doing this almost a decade now. I love what I do and I wouldn't trade my career for anything, but it takes a lot out of me, emotionally. I hope this won't cast me in an unfavorable light, Bella, but the truth is, I just can't afford a personal relationship that is going to be a constant drain on those resources. Does that make me a terrible person?"

He almost flinches as he awaits my response. "Of course not."

"I hope you're not sitting over there worrying you can't lean on me. That's not what I mean at all. I want you to need me, but I want it to be okay that I need you, too."

"Me?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Without even trying, you replenish what the world takes. You have a lightness about you; just soaking it in for a few minutes makes me feel whole again."

I shift in my seat to face him. "Isn't that kind of the point of being in a relationship?"

"I always wanted to think so, but every relationship I've had up till now has felt like work—not that I minded, exactly. I've always believed in working hard for what I want, and I acknowledge there has been a certain amount of character building along the way."

"Yes, you have a superbly built character. Good job, whoever did that for me."

He chuckles darkly. "I have to own up to falling for a certain kind of girl…"

"The kind of girl you can—"

"Save?" he says quietly, sparing me from finishing my own sentence. "Yeah, I guess it's sort of an ego thing."

"We all want to feel needed, Edward. It doesn't make you an egomaniac." I want to hug him, but he's locked into the driver's seat and I'm all the way over here on the other side of the car. "I'd hate it if you felt like being with me was work."

"It isn't," he says, "not even a little. You're so easy to be with and comfortable in your own skin, it's effortless being with you. I feel like I'm cheating the system somehow. Like… I'm eating dessert before my meal."

"Well, we both know how much you love your dessert."

"That I do." There's the dimple I've been waiting for. He turns his attention from the road, nearly whispering what seems to be a perplexing problem for him. " _God_ , Bella, you are so, _so_ beautiful."

If there's one thing Edward worships more than dessert, it's beauty. He can't even chop a damn cucumber without creating a work of art.

"Edward, I'm only beautiful because you see me that way. I don't want to be another image you've captured with your lens or some picture to hang on your wall. I'm _real,_ and you make me happy, and this doesn't have to be work to be good. I promise. It's okay to eat dessert. _Please,_ eat the damn dessert."

I was right about not making it to the Golden Gate, but it was Edward who did the pouncing.

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Aww, he doesn't feel like an asshole when he's with her. Was there ever a truer declaration of LOVE, I ask you? So, yeah, no skeletons in this guy's closet. He just needed to give himself permission to like the girl who made his soul happy. Edward "Old School" Cullen, by the powers vested in me as your author, I hereby grant you permission to fall for this Bella! Let the pouncing commence!

I'm starting to get the hang of teasers, so if you're not in the patch and you like to be teased, come find us on Facebook in Born's Pumpkin Patch!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

"Your room won't be ready until four. May I suggest you leave your bags with the bellman and enjoy the day exploring the town?" says the evil cockblocking front-desk clerk.

"Sounds good," Edward answers with a tight smile. Small comfort this is as difficult for him as it is for me. "Should we go check out those bikes, Bella?"

Hey, if Edward wants to hop on a bike seat right now with that… situation going on? I'm game.

After ten minutes of fiddling with my bike's seat height until Old School is sufficiently satisfied that everything is safe and comfortable enough for me, and another five for helmet strap adjustment, we venture onto Main Street. Napa is exactly how I've always pictured it: scenic, quaint, romantic as hell. I'm dressed more appropriately for side-saddle than straddle, but Edward pretends not to notice. The perfect gentleman. _Shocker_.

He leads me to the river, where we glide to a stop, hop off our bikes, and walk hand-in-hand down to the bank. Edward leans in to kiss me, forgetting our helmets in the heat of the moment until they crash together with a skull-rattling _clack_. The straps he so painstakingly fitted to my chin are thrust apart; helmets are tossed to the ground. He laces his fingers through my hair and pulls me hard into his body, making no attempt to hide his desire. His kisses are sloppy and desperate. Ever since our car-talk and roadside pounce, Old School is not his carefully-controlled polite self. You sure as shit won't hear this girl complaining.

He breaks away long enough to wonder aloud if he can bribe the maid to get our room ready early, and I burst into giggles.

"Is this what happens when you tell the boy he can eat dessert first?"

He breathes hard against my neck and leaves one last kiss behind my ear as he regains his senses. "You know, lunch wouldn't be a terrible idea. If we stay here, I might tackle you to the ground, and that would not be very gentlemanly. Besides, I don't want to get grass stains on your pretty white dress."

"Okay, fine. But I think we should have a rule this weekend—dessert first at every meal."

Edward's chuckle echoes along the riverbank. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

.

.

.

With nothing better to do and nowhere more private to go, we drop our bikes at the hotel, grab Edward's camera from the car, and hoof it to lunch. Per our new rule, we start with a thick slice of devil's food cake we take turns feeding each other, then gorge ourselves on briny oysters and a local Merlot that goes down way too easy. We need the extra aphrodisiacs about as much as a fourteen-year-old boy with his first _Playboy_ , but man, are we having one hell of a good time sucking them down.

Edward watches the time like a kid on the last day of school. How ridiculous is it that two grown adults are hostages to the housekeeping schedule? I have no doubt Edward will have us in our room no later than 4:01.

Our walk back to the hotel is more of a mutual lean against each other's shoulder that propels us forward only by sheer will. Our joined hands swing into a decreasing space we're more and more reluctant to leave between us. Edward snaps a few pictures on the way, but his heart's not in it; honestly, I don't think he likes letting go of my hand to hold the camera. We've waited a long time for this, and the wine has lowered any lingering inhibitions not already overridden by our oyster fest.

I'm close enough to absorb Edward's smells—the laundry soap he uses on his soft cotton T-shirt, the shampoo lingering in the silver and black tips of his hair, the scent of some manly soap on his skin. The wine and chocolate and oysters and horseradish and lemon I cannot wait to taste on his lips.

 _His lips_ , which are smiling at me right now. "What are you thinking about?"

My answer slips right out. This is what he does to me. The Edward Effect. "Kissing you."

His grin widens. "Hell of a coincidence," he says, and his lips are on mine before the last "sss" fades.

Maybe I'm reading too much into everything right now, tipsy and horny as I am, but this kiss feels—and even tastes—different. Up till now, our kisses have been the beginning, middle, and end of the story. This one, though, knows it's only chapter one. And what a compelling opener it is, with just one problem—we're stopped dead on the sidewalk. We seem to arrive at the same conclusion at the same time, breaking apart with reluctant grins.

My thoughts are going wild, replaying every sexy glance, every almost-touch, every sad shake of Edward's head just before he's hit the pause button in the past. Not today.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember that night in your studio—"

"Oh, _yes_." He has a dreamy smile on his face that makes me giggle.

"Do you remember saying something about how you pictured undressing me the first time?"

It's not the happiest part of his memory of that night, and his smile flattens. "Right."

"Well, how _did_ you… picture… undressing me?"

Even through his Ray-bans, I can feel the smolder when he looks at me, the flare in his nostrils as he breathes me in. That look crosses his face, the I-shouldn't-eat-dessert-first look, but this time, he conquers it.

His lips curl ever so slightly at the corners. "There are a few variations on the theme," he says in a tone dripping with want, "depending on my patience level… and what you're wearing." He moves a little closer, more contact, less space. "For example, this sundress…"

A shiver rushes down the length of the zipper at my back.

"I think I'd put you in front of me, both of us facing the mirror."

My eyelids dip; my breath catches. I can see that picture he's painting as if it were a photo right in front of my face.

"I'd kiss your shoulders first, then gather up your hair in one hand, baring your neck…" His gaze drifts to the back of my neck. His tongue sweeps across his lower lip. "I'd start the zipper down and watch the material fall away on both sides, leaving a swath of skin I'd kiss my way down... until I reached your bra."

A whimper escapes me. I'm not sure I can live through the telling of it. How on God's green earth will I live through the doing?

"I'd have to let go of your hair to unhook your bra. Then, I'd finish opening the zipper, all the way"—he peers around to see how low it goes, exactly—" _Jesus._ "

As much as I love being with my well-mannered gentleman, there's something so goddamn sexy about slightly out-of-control Edward. An element of unpredictability, maybe? Or maybe just knowing I do this to him. _Me._ Edward's dessert.

Somehow, miraculously, we arrive back at the Napa River Inn at the appointed time. The front desk clerk slides a paper pouch with two plastic keys across the counter. Edward retrieves our bags from the bell captain, slings one over each shoulder, and practically carries me to the elevator. Pinning me against the back wall, he starts in on the chapter-two kiss, cutting off abruptly when the bell dings, to chase me out of the elevator and down the hall.

I ready the key while he presses against me from behind. "Faster, faster!" he teases, nipping at my ear lobe with his teeth.

"Not helping!" I slap the card against the lock, again and again and again until it finally lights up green.

Edward reaches around me and grabs the handle. "You're too slow."

And we're inside. My heart pounds into my throat— _thump, thump!_ The bags slide off Edward's shoulders and hit the floor— _thump, thump!_

He takes a step toward me, and another.

I'm shaking. I can't breathe.

I have never wanted anything or anyone the way I want this man, and he's eyeing me the same way.

How will this go? How will Edward move? How will he feel around me? Inside me? Who will I be with him?

I have no idea of the details, but I know, with alarming certainty, that we will be very, very good at doing this together.

His hand finds the back of my head; his lips meet mine. His tongue, sweet and sexy and familiar. _So_ good.

Deeper. Slower. Kiss, kiss, kiss, _kissssss._

My whole world consists of this delicious feast of a kiss. It could almost be enough—if the urgent glide of his tongue along mine and his needy groans didn't leave me tingling for so much more.

His hand on my back pulls me against his hard body. Two hands now. Strong arms hold me, slide down, down, squeeze. _Kisssssss. Squeeeeeze._

Heavy, heavy breathing. Heaving. Dizzy gasps. Spinning. Flying.

A fingertip traces my collar bone. His touch is fire. I'm burning up.

My fingers crawl under his shirt, find his skin. He gasps. Up, up, up, push away the shirt. His stomach is tan and hard. A soft line of hair trails from belly button to belt buckle. Dark nipples harden under my fingers. His arms close around me; I float inside them. Strong, sure, sturdy.

 _Breathe._

His breath wafts across my hair. Soft, soothing sway. _Breathe._

A finger tucks my hair behind my ear. His lips are there, right at my ear, tickling. "How about we find that mirror so I can take your dress off?" His words vibrate in his chest, then mine.

"Yes."

He does it, exactly how he promised, except we didn't know he'd have his shirt off. He didn't warn me that looking into his eyes in the mirror while they blazed at me would be like looking at the sun, and I couldn't do it for very long because I'd melt.

I didn't know how exciting I would find it to watch him roll my nipples between his fingers or how I wouldn't want him to stop. I open my arms and wrap them around his neck so he can take anything he wants.

I didn't know my knees would buckle the first time he touched me between my legs, and he'd have to hold me up like a rag doll against his body while we both watched me shatter into a million pieces of ecstasy.

He carries me to the bed, and his eyes don't leave my naked body—and mine don't leave his—as he opens his belt and kicks off his shoes and unzips his jeans and pushes away his dark briefs. Waiting is not an option. I lean into his chest, teetering off the edge of the bed, and wrap my arms around his waist and I kiss his belly and lower and lower.

He moans when I take him into my mouth and he pulls my hair through his fingers and he groans. "Bella… _Bella_. You better stop."

I don't want to stop, but I do.

He _kissssssses_ me again and climbs onto the bed and lowers me onto my back. Knee, knee, hand, hand, knee, hand, knee, hand. He crawls over me like a giant cat, licking and nipping and purring his way up my body. He drops forward onto his elbows and I'm under him and he's on top of me and he wriggles between my thighs and I feel that magical skin-to-skin all up and down my body. Hot and hard and ready.

He pushes up onto his palms, breaking off our kiss. Punch-drunk on desire, he checks to ask if I'm ready for this. "Are you sure?"

And I say, "Yes, yes, YES!" and he laughs and says, "I'll be right back." Of course he would take care of that because he takes care of everything.

He comes back all wrapped and gloriously erect. I'm gonna need to spend loads more time with _that_ , but not now. We've waited long enough.

My knees fall open in invitation. His lips follow the gentle sweep of his palm up the inside of my thigh, trailing soft kisses like tiny lanterns lighting the way. He leaves one last, wistful kiss at my opening, as if to acknowledge how far we've traveled to arrive at this point.

He touches me with his talented fingers, crawls closer, and meets my gaze with an intensity that obliterates everything except what is happening right here on this bed.

He guides his tip to my opening, and there is no turning back. He enters me, ever careful not to hurt me but persistent in his pursuit of pleasure. How he achieves this delicate balance fills me with awe.

He inches forward and rocks his hips, and I rock mine. With a bit of intimate tweaking, we discover the perfect angle for both of us. He moves deeper, then back and deeper again, until all of him is inside me and I am full, and there is literally no space between us.

"Are you okay?" he asks needlessly but sweetly. I reassure him I am way more than okay.

He finds his rhythm, pumps his hips, abandons his manners. _Finally_. This is Edward, raw and real.

He moans; I shiver.

I pull him deeper inside me, tighten my thighs around him. He grunts, primal and thrilling. His mouth finds my breast; his teeth graze my nipple. I close my eyes but immediately open them again, because Edward's uninhibited joy is a beautiful experience, and I don't want to miss a single moment—especially this first time.

Tears well in my eyes as he chases his bliss. He tenses, gasps for a shallow breath, and thrusts into me with erratic, powerful strokes. My tears let go with his release, streaming down my cheeks. I know for a fact I will never be happier than this exact moment.

Edward lifts his head and smiles sleepily. "You're amazing," he says, and wipes the pad of his thumb under my eyes, one at a time. "Thank you."

A single, glistening tear rolls down his cheek, and I realize I am already wrong. I am already happier.

###

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hope you all are, too. *wink* You can thank Pa Trizia for the expanded detail in this chapter. I was going for something a mite more subtle, but you know Pa, she needed to SEE it! Too graphic? Anyone complaining? LOL!

Love you guys.  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

There's a sweet slice of time after I wake up, while Edward snoozes off the rest of his boozy, post-orgasmic haze, and I get to experience a different side of him. Sprawled across the bedspread on his belly, gloriously naked and vulnerable, I certainly enjoy studying his magnificent _back_ side, but it's not his adorable ass or even his strong shoulders that compel me to watch him while he sleeps. What captures my interest is his right hand, looser now in sleep, but still decisively clamped onto my right breast, his thumb and forefinger circling my nipple. Only in sleep is Edward entirely self-indulgent; only when every conscious impulse is shut down can he take what he wants and put his own needs before everyone else's.

He stirs beside me, smacking his lips. It's no wonder we're both dehydrated, what with the wine and salty oysters and the… aerobic workout. Management has kindly provided water bottles on each nightstand, and I lean left for mine, causing his hand to slide off my breast. His eyes squint open as he makes sense of his surroundings, which seems to go pretty well, judging by the smile that spreads across his face.

"Mmm… _that_ happened."

"Yep, it did," I answer, returning his smile and handing him the water.

He pushes off the bed, treating me to a delicious show of arm and shoulder muscles working in delicious harmony. Graceful and unselfconscious, he leans his back against the headboard. Eyeing me as brazenly as I am eyeing him, he takes a long drag on the water bottle. "Have I mentioned lately how beautiful you are?"

"Not since you woke up."

"Shame on me."

I scoot to his side, and he puts his arm around me and pulls me against his chest. I notice I have an excellent view of… everything. "You're not too hard on the eyes yourself, Umbrella Man."

His laughter rumbles against my ear. "I hope my underwear didn't disappoint you after all that anticipation."

"There was underwear?"

He chuckles again, takes another sip, and hands me the water. "Better drink up. We have a lot of wine in our near future. Good thing we didn't sleep through our dinner reservation. I'm starved."

"So, you're saying we have to get out of bed now?" I help his decision along by sliding my hand to his thigh.

"Um…"

A casual brush of the knuckle…

 _"Ahhh."_

One firm stroke…

A strangled, "I'm sure they'll hold our reservation," before he slides down the headboard, taking me with him. "Or not."

.

.

.

If Edward hadn't woken first, showered, and dressed before I opened my eyes this morning, I'm not sure I ever would have left our bed. He sets down his iPad when he hears me stir.

"Morning, sunshine."

"How long have you been up?"

He tips his wrist, smiling at his sexy black watch. "A while. Ready to hit the trails?"

"If we must."

"Napa Valley awaits."

"You do know I'm not a morning person, right?"

"I'm aware."

He watches with an amused grin as I kick off the covers. I can feel his eyes on my back the whole way to the bathroom. I turn and blow him a kiss before shutting the door. I hate to keep him waiting, especially since he probably needed breakfast hours ago. My speedy shower is more than rewarded by the look of surprise I get when I emerge just minutes later.

"Wow, that was quick."

"No use washing my hair when it's going to be stuffed inside a bike helmet all day."

"By that logic, no use getting dressed if I'm just gonna rip your clothes off again later." He thinks he's so smart until I call his bluff.

"True. Should I—" I reach playfully for the hem of my dress.

"Uncle, _uncle_! Can we please get out of here? I need food!"

If I worried that Edward might baby me on the bike ride, he puts that fear to rest as soon as we set out for our first destination—Laird Family Estates Vineyard about five miles north of us. He settles into his handlebars and flexes those dreamy muscles in his upper arms—the ones I secretly lean into when he hugs me. I tear my gaze from his, _ahem,_ seat, to the powerful thighs propelling him effortlessly forward. The thighs that propelled him inside me last night—repeatedly.

He rides at an impressive clip, checking back over his shoulder at frequent intervals to make sure he hasn't lost me. By the time we reach the vineyard about thirty minutes later, I'm winded and more than ready to get off the uncomfortable seat. Edward, on the other hand, looks as fresh and perfect as when we left the bakery.

"How are you not even breathing hard?"

He shrugs. "I work out. Am I riding too fast?"

"No."

He unbuckles my helmet and places a soft kiss on my lips. "Why don't you lead from now on? I'm happy to go at your pace."

The bike is quickly forgotten once I get the grass under my feet again. We stroll through the maze of grapevines under the warm sun, our fingers woven together for a perfect fit. We encounter small clusters of visitors here and there, but the two of us might as well be alone on the vast grounds—or on the planet, for that matter. In the cool cellar, Edward tugs me behind a row of giant barrels, claiming if I don't kiss him right this second, he is sure he will die. I do, and—thankfully—he doesn't.

Our "informed and friendly staff member" introduces each of the five samples at the tasting bar as if each bottle were one of his own sons. My attention zones in and out during the descriptions of floral notes and fruity undertones and spicy finishes. I should probably know more about varietals and grapes, but my curiosity about wine has never extended beyond listing them by name when a patron asks for red, white, or rosé.

I look over at Edward to share an eye roll, but he is Mr. _Wine Spectator_ : sticking his nose over the rim of his glass, swirling the stem on the counter, and closing his eyes while he swishes the wine inside his cheeks. _Adorable._

Edward totally has me fooled until I catch him squint one eye open to peek at me. I burst out in giggles, fueled by all the "tastes" I've sampled, and we have to excuse ourselves before they kick us out.

.

.

.

It might spoil the mood of our romantic dinner to tell Edward my ass hurts. Besides, he'll treat me like a porcelain doll later, and that's not at all what I want. "I was thinking we could hit a couple of the vineyards a bit farther away if we take the car tomorrow."

His slow, easy grin tells me he already knows how I feel about that damn bike seat. "Sure. We can ride up to visit Duckhorn or Beringer before we head back tomorrow."

"This trip has been amazing, Edward. Thank you for bringing me here."

He curls his fingers around mine on the table between us. "Thank _you_ for making room in your schedule for a weekend away."

"Worked out perfectly with my classes."

He takes a long sip of his Cakebread Cab and twirls the stem between his fingertips when he sets it down. Something is on his mind, something other than what's been on both our minds almost nonstop since we left the city—getting each other naked.

"What?"

His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles. "May I ask you a deeply invasive question you don't have to answer?"

"You want to know why I'm still single?"

"Nope, I already know the answer to that one."

There's a scary thought: Edward's already figured out why I'm not relationship material? "Do I want to hear this?"

"Sure. You were waiting for the right man to come along and sweep you off your feet."

"I see." I play it cool, sip my Cab, and hold his gaze as if he didn't just say he's my man and I am swept. "What is your question, sir?"

"I'm curious how you ended up in a BBA program."

"Ah."

"Remember, Bella, you don't have to answer."

Of course I'm going to answer. Edward probed the inner depths of his heart to answer my question and held back nothing. This is just school.

"I wasn't a very good student my first time around. I guess I wasn't really ready to buckle down and get serious right after high school."

"Not everyone is," he says.

"Something tells me _you_ were."

He shrugs. "I went to art school. I already loved photography. It didn't feel like work to me." _Ironic_. School didn't feel like work to him, but dating did.

"I was a bit of a party girl, if you can believe it."

He gasps. "Shocking!" He jiggles our joined hands, brushes the pad of his thumb along my palm.

" _Annnnyway_ … when the bottom fell out and I realized I was going to have to support myself, I decided I better choose a field that would insure me a good job. I took a spin through the career center to see who was getting hired, and it was the business majors."

"Getting hired for what, though?"

"Well, I know they're not getting hired for their hooters."

"Hooters notwithstanding, you happen to be very good at your job. You have a way with people, and not for nothing, you mix a mean margarita."

"It doesn't bother you the way the customers look at me?"

"I'd be a damn hypocrite if it did, now, wouldn't I?"

I'm reminded of my own discomfort over Edward's client session. "We can't always reason away jealousy."

"Bella, I'm not jealous of anyone. I mean, sure, I might be temporarily _envious_ of the guy sitting on his bar stool across from you because he gets to look at you when I don't, but what counts isn't the way they look at you; it's the way you look at them." He tilts his head and coaxes a smile from me. "Please tell me you don't look at any other man the way you're looking at me right now."

Edward already knows this answer. He'd be a fool not to, and Edward is no fool.

"Not that I know of."

"Good," he says, a knowing grin slowly spreading across his cheeks. "I think you should do whatever makes you happy. That's why I was asking you about this business degree. You seem to dislike your classes so much."

"I don't think it would matter what I was studying; I'm a pretty lousy student. At least I'm filling in some of my gaps in understanding how the world works."

"Education is always a good thing, and I really admire you for going after it."

"I never want to be dependent on someone else for my livelihood."

"I understand. I admire that, too. And nobody says you have to figure out your whole life right now… or _ever_ , for that matter."

"So, you're not embarrassed of me?"

"Why _would_ I be?"

"Be real. You're dating a Hooters girl half your age."

His jaw drops. "You're not half my age! I'm not _twice your age_! That would make me fifty-eight!"

His horror over the math is rather hilarious. "Fine, one and a half times my age, but that's beside the point."

"I don't know why you'd ask me this, Bella. Have I ever given you any indication that I look down on your work?"

"Of course not. You never would."

"Because I _don't._ "

"Maybe not now, but assuming we're together for a while—"

"Which I fervently hope we will be!"

I have to smile at his enthusiasm, despite the fact that the wine seems to have opened a can of snarly snakes I didn't even know existed inside me. "Edward, there's a very real chance I may be working at Hooters for another five years."

"Well, how lucky am I? Dating a Hooters girl is pretty much every straight man's fantasy."

"Come on, Edward. There's a difference between a fantasy and a relationship."

"Yes, and would you like me to tell you the difference?"

"Please."

"The fantasy is what happens inside your head at a bus stop, when a hot, young woman wearing a skimpy, half-soaked top tells you she's going for a job interview at Hooters. I won't lie, Bella, I was aroused."

A spike of heat sets my face on fire. He can't just sit here and talk about arousal! But he does—and he's not finished yet.

"Then, miraculously, that girl offers you the seat next to her on the bus and asks you to talk her down from the ledge. Now, she's not just a fantasy; she's a person you want—no, you _need_ —to get to know. So, you spend every free moment tracking her down before she slips through your fingers, and you try your best not to act like a creep doing it. You find her, which is already a minor miracle, and you make a complete fool out of yourself trying to ask her out, but it's totally worth it when she says yes."

 _Gulp._ There are no games with this man, no pretense, no hiding. Early on, I teased Edward about what he might be wearing under his superhero cape, and here he sits, revealing every last breadcrumb in every dark corner. _This is how a man behaves; the others were boys._

He senses I'm not exactly used to hearing this outpouring of raw emotion and embraces me with a gentle smile to cushion the impact of his confessions. "You still want her the way you did at first, but now it's worse because you've had a chance to think about her and see her dressed up—and even _un_ dressed, God help me—but lo and behold, you discover you _like_ her, too. And not just a little bit.

"Now, you need to find out what she thinks about when she's driving, what kind of food she likes, what kind of music she listens to, and what books she's read. What turns her on and what scares her, how to make her smile, and if you're really reaching for the moon and stars, how to make her laugh out loud.

"That fantasy is still alive and well, but now, if you are _crazy_ lucky enough to make love to that girl, it is so much better than you ever imagined possible because you have real feelings for each other, and basically, every conscious thought you have is spent agonizing what you can do to make her happy beyond her wildest dreams. And that, my sweet Hooters girl, is a relationship."

I should probably try to respond in a semi-intelligent fashion, but what the hell do I say to that? "I think I might need some more wine."

He obliges me, as usual, reaching for the bottle and refilling both our glasses. "Sorry, did I just lay too much on you?"

"I could do with a little processing time."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bella." He leans back contentedly, wine glass in hand. "Maybe we should order dessert."

"We already had blueberry pie before our salads!"

"That was a long time ago," he says.

Yes, before he spilled the contents of his head and heart all over our dinner table. "You're on your own with the second dessert. I am absolutely not having any."

"We'll see."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Glad you guys seemed to enjoy the excruciating details of their first time (heh)! For those of you still working out the math, she's 29 and he's 43. Boom. Love your awesome comments- shout out to the one reader who seemed kinda miffed that Bella "only" had one orgasm in the last chapter. Dude. I bow down to your lover! Send me a pointer or two?

Sidebar: I hid a little Easter egg in here for my fellow _Cut and Run_ girls... got it?

Lastly and leastly, my story, "Still Waters" is up for Twifanfictionrecs top 10 fics of the year. (Joanne Riddy takes the top 10 from each month and places them on a giant annual poll.) The website is a fantastic library of fics sorted up and down by -ward and -ella, theme, length, author... you name it. I highly recommend a visit to the site (twifanfictionrecs dot com) and if you're so inclined, you may vote once every 24 hours during the (thankfully short) month of February for your favorites. There are many great stories on the list, great way to fill out your TBR list! My fellow authors and I appreciate all your support!

Thanks for making this place a happy escape for me!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

It's not a terrible way to wake up: a swivel of Edward's salt-and-pepper head when he hears the sheets rustle, the lift of his bushy eyebrows when he discovers my eyes are open, and the grin that drills a dimple into his left cheek. "Good morning."

Normally, those two words don't coexist, but Edward makes all things possible. "Mmm."

He's not only fully dressed, but his camera is slung around his neck as if he's ready to walk out the door right now—or maybe he's already been out for coffee and come back. "Ready for another day of exploring?"

"Yep." I am, indeed, but what I want to explore is sitting in an arm chair, watching me with great curiosity and high expectations.

He stands up and claps his hands together. "Well, let's go! Up and at 'em!"

"Nuh-uh."

Now he's perplexed, hands on hips, head tilted as if he can understand me better at a forty-five-degree angle "No?"

I push the covers off—all the way off—and crook my finger.

The light bulb goes on. "Oh! Well, when you put it like that…" He crawls up from the foot of the bed, and I meet him halfway, stopping him with my hand on his chest.

"Close your eyes," I say. "I have something for you."

"Oh yeah?" His eyes give off a playful sparkle just before they close. Edward knows this game.

I lean forward to kiss him, and just as our lips meet, my boob slaps the camera, which bangs into Edward's chest.

"Shit! Sorry! Are you okay, Bella?"

"Yeah, but I think that close-up was a bit too close for comfort."

"Here, let me kiss it and make it feel better." Edward doesn't wait for an answer before closing his lips around my "wound."

"Good to know chivalry is alive and well and living in Napa Valley."

He grins up at me, and my breast slips out of his mouth. "I better check out the other one to make sure there's no collateral damage."

"Very thorough, Dr. Cullen."

His muffled laughter vibrates through my chest. He completes his examination with a soft kiss on each nipple. "The hooters are better than ever."

"Awesome. Perhaps you should take that camera off to prevent further injury?"

"Probably a wise plan." Edward reaches for the strap, pulls it over his head, then freezes with his arms in the air. "Although…"

The look he gives me could melt the polar ice cap. Neither of us needs to say a word. He lifts the camera to his eye.

 _Permission granted._

I back away slowly, scooting toward the pillows, my eyes absolutely riveted to the camera, to the artist _behind_ the camera—or is it the man? I can't separate them anymore. Honestly, I don't want to.

It's a dance between object (me) and viewer (a giant, unyielding eye cradled between Edward's talented hands). I lead, stretching my arms overhead along the mattress, extending my legs down the length of the bed. My graceful but greedy partner moves around me, holding himself just out of reach. The tantalizing voyeur, not the least bit hesitant or apologetic this time.

I remember this heady sensation from the first time I posed in Edward's studio, the deliciously erotic thrill of being seen and recorded, feeling wanted and worthy of the artist's eye. It's all so much more intense now that neither of us needs to pretend this isn't sexual. I can't tell where he's focused, what he's shooting. The lens zooms in and out. He moves like a thief in the night, but it's too late for Edward to pretend he's not here.

He fuels my response, and then he captures it.

We're each other's cause and effect. Edward is hard, and I am wet. It's time to do something about that.

I push up onto my elbows. A soft grunt escapes the sexy mouth visible beneath the camera. I slide toward Edward on my belly like water moving through a riverbed. He retreats; I follow. He jumps to his feet on top of the bed, Vans and all, shooting me from above.

I grasp him by the ankles, walk my hands up his calves, and slip them right inside the legs of his shorts. He lets out a tortured moan as my palms meet in the middle. I pull myself to my feet and kiss him, but the damn camera gets in our way again. I lift the strap over his head and drop it around my neck.

He steps back, completely amused at the sight of me, naked but for his camera. "Damn, you look great on that side of the camera too."

Which gives me an idea.

I have no idea what I'm doing, but how hard can it be? Point and shoot. I lift the camera to my face, mimicking how Edward holds it.

"Um, Bella, what are you doing?"

"Silly photographer! I'm taking your picture." At least, I think I am. I see his face, I push the button, I hear a click.

He smirks into the lens and waits patiently for me to stop taking pictures, but I don't. He moves on to Plan B: holding out his hand. "Okay, give it back."

"Nuh-uh."

" _Bella_ …"

I step back. "Come on. Fair is fair. Take off your clothes."

I capture the perfect double-eyebrow pop of his complete shock. " _What_?"

"Haven't you ever wanted to try—"

"Nope." He crosses his arms over his chest.

I recognize his resolve; I've bumped up against one of Edward's boundaries. I have zero desire to ruin the mood by pushing him about something he feels strongly about, even if I don't understand it.

"No worries," I say, lowering the camera, "but just so you know, it's kind of a turn-on." As if he couldn't tell what he was doing to me with his lens.

"Yeah, I don't think I need any help in that department."

I give his lovely erection a friendly rub. "I can see that."

He closes in, gently removes the camera from my hand and lifts the strap over my head. "How about I set this down now, and we finish what we started?" He cups my chin in his free hand and distracts me with a soft kiss. It's highly effective.

I've never seen a person undress more efficiently. Edward kicks off his shoes while hopping across the mattress to the nightstand, where he places the camera. His shirt disappears with a single sweep of one arm that I might need him to teach me later. He's mastered the art of removing his underwear along with his shorts.

I barely have time to catch my breath before he straddles my waist and pins my hands over my head. His erection sits heavy and eager on my belly.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was not to touch you when you were lying here like this?"

"I could say the same about you, Mr. Hot Photographer."

Compared to the impersonal camera lens, Edward's gaze is a heatwave. I hold my breath as his fingertips start down either side of my neck and trail a line straight to my breasts. He grasps them, suddenly impatient and gruff. I draw in a sharp gasp and buck my hips beneath his thighs.

He bends forward and works his tongue over the tight pink knots, first one, then the other, and drops a line of kisses down, down, down my belly. He wriggles my thighs open with his shoulders and settles between them. _Have at it, baby._

For Edward The Giver, the fact that we're both stone-cold sober in a room bathed in sunlight won't even be a speed bump. His lips touch my opening, a sweet kiss hello. _Sigh._

I tip my chin to watch the crown of his head dance between my legs as his tongue traces the landscape. His soft, unhurried strokes are a welcome change from… from what I don't have to settle for anymore.

I reach down to run my fingers through his hair, a gesture of appreciation and encouragement, not that Old School would even consider stopping before I spasm with ecstasy. If he had to, he'd work that tongue of his to death—hard labor at the clitoris.

 _HOLY SHIT, that feels good._ I mean, that feels _really fucking good._ Warm breath, soft tongue, and what is happening with those fingers? He's inside me, on me… I can't track all the delicious sensations.

He laps at me like a hungry kitten, moaning and purring at his meal. Tension builds, pressure, an elastic band pulled tighter, tighter...

Is this… Am I going to…?

Oh, GOD, I AM!

A low, keening wail bubbles up from my belly. The pleasure is a string Edward pulls tighter and higher until I float and squeal and gasp for air.

When I can breathe again, what I drag into my lungs is more like club soda, light and fizzy, tiny bubbles popping inside my head. Like I just blew up a dozen balloons and I'm all out of oxygen.

The afterglow is this beautiful, lingering pulse, a soft throbbing that leaves me satisfied yet greedy for more. Any other guy would be gloating right now about his mad skills, scrambling as fast as his knees could carry him toward my mouth, all "My turn, baby!"

I peek down there to see what's what, and I find Edward, rolled onto his side, relaxed as can be, fluttering his fingertips over my skin like a whisper, drawing me out in the sweetest possible way.

"Hey, c'mere, you."

He glances up, registers my blissful expression, and saunters up my body—in no rush, even though I can feel his need, hard against my thigh. He heaves a sigh as he sinks into my side, as if he's the one who just had the best orgasm of his life.

"Well, Mr. Cullen, I'm afraid you've set the bar impossibly high."

He chuckles into my left boob, tickling me with his scruff. "I wouldn't worry too much," he answers, "I'm really easy."

I hitch my right leg over his hip. "I was referring to _your_ next outing, not mine."

His laughter breezes across my skin. "Oh! Challenge accepted."

"Speaking of challenges…"

Open and ready for adventure, as always, he smiles. " _Yessss_?"

"Do you think you could lie still so I can have my turn?"

Edward does not need to be asked twice. He flops onto his back and clasps his hands behind his head. "Not making any promises about lying still."

He's beyond hopeless at keeping still—or quiet, for that matter—nearly jumping out of his skin at the first swirl of my tongue, but damn, is it fun watching him try. Crouched naked between his legs, I grin up at him, teasing my tongue around the tip, imagining exactly how I must look from his vantage point.

I close my fist around him. He hisses and groans, tugs on my hair—all he can reach of me—and tosses his hips from side to side.

We both know how this ends, but I take it as a personal challenge to push his epic self-control to the limit.

 _I'll start you off slow, baby._ Kiss, kiss, lick _. Mmm. Feels good, doesn't it?_

 _Swallowing you all the way down because I love the feel and taste of you in my mouth._ Up and down and up and down. _Mmm._

 _Do you like it when I roll your balls around inside my cheeks? Warm and wet, you like that? Mmm._

 _Are you good and relaxed, baby? Time to whip you up!_

 _Oh, what's this, now? A hand_ and _my mouth…?_ Pump, swallow, pump, lick _._

"Ahhhh."

 _Oh yeah, I love it when you moan for me._

"Mmmmm."

 _That's it, baby, throw your hips into it…_ Stroke, stroke, stroke _… Breathe…_

"Ahh, ahh, ahhhhh…"

 _No, no, baby, not yet. Easy… easy…_

 _Here you go, again. Come on, that's it, baby._

"Ahhhh."

Swallow, pump, swallow, pump…

"Ah, ahh. ohhhh…FUCK!"

 _Aw, was that a growl? Poor baby. Okay, no more teasing._

 _Here we go. That's it. Come on, that's it, stay with me!_

"Ahh, ahh, AHHHHH!"

 _Yesss. Beautiful._

 _God, I love watching you come._

He peers out beneath the arm flung across his eyes. "Well, that was…"

"Amazing?"

"Ha! I was gonna say 'mean'! I never noticed how evil you were," he says. "Good thing I got to see this side of you before things got serious between us." He opens his arms and I climb inside them.

"Yeah, you really dodged a bullet there."

His laughter is the best prize. "I _really_ hate to say this, but I have to get up."

"What, why?"

He leaves a soft kiss in my hair and rolls off the bed. "I need to make a phone call, and I am about to die of thirst."

He's so much fun to watch as his pole leads him like a divining rod to the bottle of water on the desk. He chugs half of it, screws the cap on, and tosses it to me on the bed. "Drink up. I'm not done with you."

 _Gah!_

I am completely charmed by bare-assed Edward picking up the house phone and shifting into business mode. "Yes, we're going to need a late checkout in room 407. What's the latest we can stay? Okay, that'll be fine. And can you have room service send up two cheeseburgers with fries? Perfect—"

"Ahem!"

He glances at me and breaks into a wide smile. "And a hot fudge sundae with a mound of whipped cream. Great, thank you very much."

He slips into the bathroom and returns to bed a few minutes later, tossing two condoms at my feet.

"Two?"

He shrugs. "I don't want to have to leave this bed again."

"Don't you think we should shower at some point?"

"After lunch," he says. "I have a feeling it's going to be a very messy affair."

"I can only imagine." And I do: whipped cream and hot fudge sauce _everywhere._

He claps his hands. "What's next?" he asks, as if planning our next vineyard tour.

"Hmm." I eye his half-cocked cock. "You. On your back. Now."

"Yeah? You like it on top?"

"Yes, I can work off my cheeseburger in advance."

He crawls to the middle of the bed and rolls onto his back. "What about me?"

I shrug. "That's your problem." And that's the last word on the topic before the kissing begins.

His recovery time is impressive, which is helpful because our lunch is going to come knocking at the door soon. He's wrapped and ready and with some not-very-romantic (to be honest) push-me-pull-you, I'm on top and he's inside me. And then everything is sexy again.

I love how his abs flex and retreat as his hips press up to meet mine, love hearing his sexy grunts when he pushes into me, love how he grips my ass with both hands, sliding me up and down his shaft.

I drop forward, my hands on his shoulders, my tits dangling over his face. He figures it out quickly, his mouth breaking into that sexy grin just before he lifts his head and flicks his tongue at my nipple. He strains toward me like a kid eating donuts off a string at a Halloween party, bobbing for nipples.

" _Mmm,_ how'd you know this is my favorite position?"

Gee, I wonder. Boys and boobs? "Wild guess."

We ramp up our tempo and fall into a rhythm. My thighs are sore from the biking, but the burn feels good. Everything feels good.

I ease back into his hips, sit up straight in the saddle, and lift the hair off my neck. Edward regards me with sheer wonder, as if he's seeing his first rainbow—er, double rainbow, by the way he eyes my bouncing breasts.

"God, that's perfect," he says, licking his lips and thrusting a little harder. "Bella, would you mind if I…"

I'm sure he's gonna squeeze his eyes shut and roar through me like a freight train, but he surprises me and tips our joined bodies toward the nightstand. He stretches for the camera strap, which he snags with one finger and drags to his side.

"May I, please?"

"Knock yourself out."

The rodeo ride slows to a trot while Edward snaps a few shots of my chest, but it's all good. He's having so much fun. He reminds me of a little boy who just got his sports idol's autograph, except it's just me and they're just boobs.

Happy and horny, he sets the camera down on the bed, and we're off to the finish line. His orgasm sets off mine—or who knows, maybe it's the other way around—but we're two blissed out, sexed-out, boneless jellyfish afterward. I bend down to give him a kiss, which he deepens.

"Bella, do you know how happy you make me?"

"I could probably make an educated guess right now."

He chuckles. "I don't want you to guess. I want you to see it. Here." He hands me the camera. "Take my picture."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Like this?" He's still inside me.

"Yes. Just the way we are right now."

I lift the camera to my eye, and he smiles.

"Do I need to focus or anything?"

"Nope, just aim at whatever you want and push the button."

I've already found it—his smile. _Click._ His eyes. _Click._ His hand, sliding up my leg— _click_ —resting on my thigh— _click._ His expression— _click_ —the face of a man who is content exactly where he is— _click_ —and isn't moving any time soon— _click_.

Except…

"Room service."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : So, when I was growing up, we had about 8 TV channels to watch at any given time: 3 networks + PBS, then a handful of UHF signals, depending on how the antenna was aimed and the weather. Every year on Super Bowl Sunday, one of the other stations played a movie on "for the other set," which came in awfully handy in Cleveland Browns territory. That ain't exactly the case these days, with a bazillion TV stations and the offerings of Netflix, Hulu, iTunes, Amazon, and whatever you downloaded from god-knows-where, but if you're not a football fan, please consider this story your show "for the other set." Me? I'll be rooting for my Pats!

Hope you all enjoyed the ha-cha-cha. Poor Edward, she just won't let the man out of that bed! Once again, you (and I) have PaTrizia to thank for the detail and the flavor—if you will—of their experimentations. If I'd saved the "before," I would post it as an outtake just to show the transformation. Alas, I did not. Trust me, you'd like this version better. *wink*

It's been so much fun seeing all the new faces in the patch, and I hope you're enjoying the teasings! Thanks, as always, for your support but most of all, for sharing your own stories with me! Lots of great "Old Schools" out there, you lucky gals!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

Rosalie doesn't miss a trick, even with two taps pouring at once. "Well, well, well. Don't you look _well rested_?"

"I suppose you could call it that," I answer, moving behind her to add, "considering we barely left the bed all day yesterday."

"Ha! That explains the glow."

I doubt she's exaggerating. I'm not great at hiding my feelings anyway, and I'm sure I'm broadcasting my bliss louder than the fire alarm at my old dorm.

"Where's that new girl?"

"Ugh." Rosalie shuts off the taps. "She was a disaster."

"Oh no. What happened?"

"You wanna pour me a Mountain Dew and a Red Bull?" Rosalie is perpetual motion, delivering the beers, wiping down a vacated spot, reaching for an open bottle of Chardonnay. "That girl couldn't pour her way out of a cardboard wine box. Emmett had to eat three bar tabs during Happy Hour on Saturday. She didn't last to the end of the shift."

"I'm so sorry. You should've called me!"

"Pshh. Emmett pulled Angela from the floor. We managed fine. And you… got to have your much-needed _rest._ " She pops her eyebrows up and down, and we both giggle.

"Speaking of rests, how are _you_ feeling?" I ask.

"I am one hundred and fifty percent. Thanks for covering for me."

"Anytime. Emmett was pretty concerned."

"Poor fella," she says with a chuckle. "He didn't know what to do with himself. Buzzed around me with Pepto Bismol and a sad little face… he was useless but adorable."

"Sounds like we've got ourselves a couple of good guys."

"Mmhmm, but you might not want to let him hear you say that." Rosalie juts her chin over my right shoulder.

I have no idea how I missed Edward's entrance. The heat from his smile alone could power a city block. I guess I'm not the only one wearing my heart on my sleeve today.

My feet glide toward him as if pulled by magnets. How is it possible to have missed him so much already? We've only been apart eighteen and a half hours, but who's counting? I'm crazy for him, and the insanity is definitely getting worse. _Sigh._

PDA is frowned upon at work—"gotta keep the fantasy alive for the customers"—and if Emmett and Rosalie can keep their hands and mouths off each other all day, I suppose we can refrain, too. But it ain't easy.

I grab a fresh napkin off the pile and slide it across the bar until it bumps into his folded hands. "What can I get you, sir?"

His eyebrows do a little dance for me as he settles into the game. "I seem to be in the mood for wine. What would you recommend with the caramel fudge cheesecake?"

"I take it the meatloaf didn't fill you up?"

"There's always room for dessert."

"I see," _says your dessert_. "I'd definitely go with the cab."

"Is that right?" _Dimple._

"Mmhmm. I think you'll find the cedar and brown sugar notes to be an amusing accompaniment to the chocolate, and the graham cracker finish will blow your mind."

A rich chuckle escapes him. "I see you were paying attention, after all. Cab it is."

"Very well. I can offer you a Woodbridge… or a Woodbridge. What's your pleasure?"

" _You_ are, but I'll take the Woodbridge."

The temperature in here just rose about twenty degrees. Edward's gaze follows me like a cat tracking a mouse as I stretch to retrieve a red wine glass from the rack overhead. There's a bottle uncorked already, thank God, because I shouldn't be handling sharp implements in his vicinity.

I set the glass artfully onto the middle of the cocktail napkin, as I know Edward's appreciation for symmetry. My concentration is locked on my task so as not to splatter his spiffy outfit with red wine, but he is free to stare at my hooters—and he does. The Edward Effect takes over command central, increasing my heartrate and tightening my nipples into sharp points under his intense focus.

After the perfect non-drip, wrist-twist finish, I lean in close and whisper, "If you keep staring at me like that, you're gonna make my boyfriend _envious_."

"Hmm… is he a big guy?"

"You could say that." I give him the woo-woo eyebrows.

"Heh." He places his lips at the edge of my ear. "Good thing he can't read my thoughts."

"I wouldn't be so sure, mister."

He chuckles into his wine glass as I pull back. "Good point."

"Let me put your order in and take a spin down the bar. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Take your time."

We're not overly busy but I want to pull my weight, which means I don't have a chance to visit Edward again until his cheesecake comes out. I'm not usually tempted by the food at work, but watching him take a forkful of the fluffy filling to his lips, I want some. Or maybe I want to _be_ the cheesecake. I can't say for sure, but I know I want _something_.

Ever the mind-reader, he grins and turns his forkful toward me. "Hungry?"

"Not for food."

He nods. "I feel your pain, there."

"How was your visit today?" Nothing kills the buzz like a mom tossed into the convo.

He takes a casual bite and sets down his fork. "My mother would like to meet you."

"Oh boy." The last boy who brought me home to meet his parents was in high school. I don't remember that going very well. "Edward, I haven't even seen my own mother in almost two months."

"What does one have to do with the other?"

"It would just be really weird if I were to bring a man home with me out of the blue."

"Whoa, there. Slow down. I'm not asking you to introduce me to your parents."

"I know, it's just…" I'm at a loss, here. I don't have a concrete reason for feeling as if an earthquake has just toppled the restaurant around us, but I still feel trapped under the rubble.

Something tells me Edward is not exactly surprised I'm having a mini-freakout over here. He dabs his mouth with the cocktail napkin and launches into a monologue he seems to have been saving in the event of this very emergency.

"So, I show up today with my usual bouquet, dressed in my usual Shady Acres uniform, everything about me's pretty much the same as any other day—facial hair, head hair, same old face, right?" He pauses to make sure I'm following along. I nod. "First thing Mom says is, 'You look different today, son.'"

 _Please don't say, "Yeah, Mom, I spent the weekend porking my girlfriend nonstop."_

"So I say, 'Yeah? How so?' and Mom says, 'This girl of yours is pretty special, huh?'"

I wasn't planning on crying today at work, but if he keeps this up, I might. There's something kind of wonderful about hearing Edward tell me his own mother could read it all over his face. "And you say…?"

Edward grins, loving my straight man routine. "I say, 'Yes, she really is.' And Mom says, 'Why haven't you brought her by?' so I ask her, 'When have I ever brought a girlfriend here?' Would you like to know what she said to that, Bella?"

I don't trust myself to speak, or even to nod.

"She said," he starts in his regular voice but mellows when he gets to the punchline, "When has a girl ever put a smile _like this_ on your face?"

He reaches across the bar for my hand, and PDA be damned, I grab it, while I swipe my tears away with the other hand.

"And what did you say to that?" My attempt at speech comes out shaky and soft, but he smiles anyway. Maybe it's the smile his mother saw and maybe it's special for me, but it's nice.

"What else could I say? I tell her, 'You know, Mom, you got a good point there.' And here I am."

"Here you are."

I can't stop looking at him. He's hot as hell, for one thing, but that's nothing new. He seems more sure of himself than before—not necessarily more sure of _me_ , but more clear about his own feelings. And he's man enough to own it, which is refreshing as hell.

"I hope you don't mind I came here to ask you, but it didn't seem the kind of thing I should try to do over the phone."

I drag a knuckle over the last tear. "No, that might've been awkward."

He gives my hand a playful squeeze. "Since our next date isn't for another three days, I figured I better get down here right away."

"I'm glad you did." I couldn't fathom how I'd get through three days without seeing him anyway, but he saves me from saying so.

"So… what should I tell dear old Mom? Will you accompany me to Shady Acres?"

"Sure, but does it have to be on a Monday? I have class till noon and then I start work at two."

His grin is so huge, I'm not sure he heard anything after "sure."

"The meatloaf is negotiable."

.

.

.

Mrs. Cope sits patiently on my bed while I try on every outfit I own with any potential for the big lunch date. My most conservative top falls well short of meet-the-mom material. And this isn't just any mom; it's Edward's mom. Old School squared.

"Maybe I should splurge on something new," I say, regarding my unfortunate cleavage. "I might not get a second chance with her."

"Oh! I think I might have just the thing… I'll be right back."

Mrs. Cope returns a few minutes later with a long, creamy-beige silk scarf dotted with bright-colored birds. "My daughter-in-law gave this to me for my sixtieth birthday, and she happens to have exquisite taste. I'm sure it cost her a fortune, but I've never had occasion to wear it. You'd be doing me a giant favor taking it out for a spin." She drapes the scarf around my neck, wraps it again, then fusses with the ends. "There. What do you think?"

She turns me toward the mirror, and I can hardly believe my eyes. I look as if I stepped right out of one of those old-time movies where the female love interest is the spitting image of the vampire's long-lost, true love's cameo-wearing great-great-great-grandmother. I do believe Mrs. O'School will be impressed.

"It's perfect, Mrs. C. Thank you so much."

"My pleasure. She's going to love you, you know."

My reflection frowns back at both of us. Mrs. Cope turns me to face her. "What's wrong?"

"It's just, I can't help thinking I might not be what Mrs. Cullen had in mind for her son."

"Oh, Bella." She takes my hand between hers. "I know a thing or two about what mothers want for their sons. Let me tell you, honey, you are a prize. You make that man happy. A mother knows."

My thoughts skitter back to exactly how I put that smile on Edward's face. I sure hope a mother doesn't know that part.

"You don't think she'll worry I'm after his money or something?"

"Honey, this isn't exactly Mission Bay."

"It's certainly more than I have, but obviously, that's not why I'm with him. I mean, I fell for a guy standing at a bus stop in the rain. Sure, he had nice shoes, but still!"

"You know what's in your heart, and so does Edward. Don't invent problems where there aren't any. Life hands you enough of those all on its own."

"True." I run my fingers along the beautiful scarf. "Thank you again, Mrs. C. For everything."

"I'm just happy to see you so happy. He really is such a lovely young man."

There's a wistful look in her eye that makes me wonder if she's missing her own Mr. C or if she's worried about losing me to Edward. I can't make any promises about sticking around forever, but Mrs. Cope is a wise woman; she knows this. Still, she's always the first to shoo me out the door and into his arms.

.

.

.

We ride the bus to Shady Acres because this is Edward's routine. Also, this bus is our beginning, and there's something that just feels right about settling into the seat with him, clasping hands, and venturing out together.

"Too bad it didn't rain today," he teases. "You know, for old time's sake."

"No, thank you. Your mom doesn't need to see what happens to my hair in the rain."

He chuckles lightly, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. "Oh, the horror!"

"Shush! You cannot possibly understand. All you have to do is run your hand over your head once, and poof! You're perfect."

"Whatever you say." We hit a bump in the road, and the pretty rust mini-mums bounce against his knee.

"Okay, your older sister, Alice, lives in Seattle with her husband, Jasper, and their two kids, Seth and Peter."

"Paul."

"Right, Paul. And your mom has a sister in Miami Beach who—"

He pulls me into one of his best kisses ever, swallowing the family history along with all rational thought.

"Stop. It's not an exam. My mother's not like that. I promise."

I nuzzle my face into his neck, breathe him in. If I could just stay right here forever, everything would be fine. "We should have probably had crazy marathon sex first. I would have been more relaxed."

He chuckles against my cheek. "Bella, I promise you, we are going to have epic marathon sex afterward."

"Okay, yes, because thinking about that while we're with your mom is really gonna help me relax."

"Um… we're here."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Well? Is Mom gonna love her or WHAT?

 **XXX ~BOH**


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

Shady Acres isn't at all what I expected. Granted, my teenage memories of Grammy's last days at Cliffhaven are a good fifteen years old, but the smell of the disinfectant that couldn't quite disguise the stench of death and decay still lives in my nostrils.

This place feels more like a luxury apartment building than a hospital. We pass the gift shop in the lobby, where Edward bought his replacement orchid last week. The young girl behind the counter waves at Edward, and he pokes his head into the store and greets her by name. Same thing happens at the reception area on the way to the elevators.

"You've got quite the fan base, I see."

"The son-who-visits is a unicorn in a place like this."

"More rock star than unicorn, methinks."

He shakes his head and grins. "Good thing, because if I were a unicorn, I couldn't hold your hand."

Just then, it hits me: I'm the first girl to stand here with Edward, about to go meet his mother. I lean into his arm, drawing from the strength in the muscles that press back against my cheek as well as the sturdy character below the surface.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for bringing me here."

He drops a kiss in my hair. "Thank you for coming." The elevator dings, we step inside, and he hits the button for the sixth floor. "We won't be in Mom's room long. I just need to pick her up so we can escort her downstairs. They like the family members to do that as much as possible."

"Of course. I don't want you to do anything different just because I'm here."

He squeezes my hand. "Sure, I'll just pretend there isn't a beautiful girl attached to me. Nobody'll even notice."

Edward is even more popular on floor six. "Well, hello, handsome," calls one of the older women at the nurses' station.

He tugs me over to the counter. "Angela, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Bella. Bella, this is my mother's very favorite nurse, but don't tell the others."

" _Pshh_. Nobody can compete with Raoul."

Edward rolls his eyes. " _Raoul_."

"Who's Raoul?" Two faces turn toward me—Angela's amused smile and Edward's I-don't-want-to-discuss-it glower.

Angela leans in to fake-whisper. "He's kind of a favorite with the female residents."

"Oh my god, wait! The sponge bath guy? He's _real_?"

Poor Edward moans. "How's my mother today?"

"She's doing great. She's all dressed for lunch, and she's been looking forward to meeting you, Bella."

"Likewise," I say.

"Lovely to meet you, Bella. Have a nice time."

My heart flutters with each step toward his mother's room, and Edward catches me running my hand up and down the borrowed scarf for comfort.

"I promise, she's going to love you," Edward says, squeezing my hand in his.

There's no time to respond before he knocks on her open door. "Happy Spaghetti Thursday, Mom."

A small woman in a big armchair turns her attention from the TV to the doorway. Her pale blue eyes light up as they land on her son. He crosses the room quickly, towing me along. Her gaze shifts to me, wrinkles deepening in her face as she smiles. I can so clearly see the beautiful young woman she once was and her son's handsome lines within the older features.

Edward bends to kiss his mother's cheek, and her eyes drift shut. A shaky hand rises to Edward's cheek for a brief moment, as if she is capturing a memory of the moment to savor after we're gone. Edward pulls back; her hand falls away.

"Looking pretty snappy today, Mom."

She waves away his compliment. "Where are your manners, Edward? Introduce me to your girl!"

Edward shoots me a see-what-I-have-to-deal-with grin. He releases my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

"Mom, I would like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Bella Swan. Bella, this is my mother, Esme Cullen."

She offers up her hand. From what Edward has told me, Mrs. Cullen is not much older than Mrs. Cope, but the last ten years have not been kind to her. Her skin is like tissue paper under my fingers.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cullen."

"The pleasure is mine, dear." She smiles sweetly and sets her other hand on top of mine. "I had thought maybe my son had exaggerated your beauty, but I can see now he was being modest."

It's comforting that Edward is blushing too. "Mom—"

"Edward, why don't you go see if Angela can scrounge you up a vase for those lovely mums you brought me?" She has just issued an order, and all three of us know it.

Edward shakes his head and sighs as he walks out, possibly rethinking the wisdom of bringing me today. Mrs. Cullen leans in and giggles. "I thought he'd never leave. Have a seat, won't you, dear?"

The only place to sit is her bed. It's clearly one of those mechanical jobs that lifts and lowers, but at least they've let her use her own linens. She watches as I sit gingerly on the puffy gold quilt.

"Your scarf is just beautiful."

"Thank you. I borrowed it from a friend."

"Well, she has very good taste." She chuckles to herself. "And obviously, so do you—said the mother of the boyfriend!"

"No argument here." I smooth my fingers down the scarf. I wasn't counting on carrying on a conversation without Edward.

"My son tells me you're studying business."

"Yes."

"I envy you," she says. "I never had much of a head for numbers."

"I'm not sure I do either," I admit.

"Still, you're learning. It's admirable."

"Thank you."

Maybe if I can get her talking… A bartender listens; I'm better at that.

My eyes dash around the room, searching for a topic, but there's just not much here beyond the predictable framed family photos, courtesy of her son, the photographer. "So, uh, Edward tells me you like the meatloaf."

She giggles again, and I swear she looks twenty years younger each time. "Can you keep a secret?" I nod. "My _son_ likes the meatloaf, and I enjoy his company. Personally, I like the seafood casserole they serve on Fridays."

"As long as there's dessert, I'm pretty sure Edward would be happy."

"Ah," she says with a broadening smile, "I see you know him well."

"I think I've gained five pounds since we started dating."

"If you have, I can't imagine where it's gone," she says. "He's lucky he's always had a good metabolism, from the time he was a little boy. You've never seen a kid put down chocolate chip cookies like that one, and if we ever got within five hundred yards of a donut shop… forget it."

"Oh, he definitely loves his donut holes."

"Yes, especially the powdered sugar ones!" She seems completely delighted, and I can't help but picture Edward as a little boy, covered in powdered sugar from the tip of his nose to the sweet corners of his mouth.

She sighs, a faraway look crossing her eyes. "It's really a miracle he turned out so well, considering how we indulged him. I was in my late thirties when I learned I was pregnant with Edward. Alice was twelve. I would never say Edward was an accident, per se, but he was most definitely a surprise. Dr. Cullen and I had always wanted a little boy, and we had all but given up."

Imagining a world without Edward makes my heart hurt. I have the urge to thank his mom, but it might not leave the right kind of impression to thank her for screwing her husband. Instead, I silently thank the forces of nature that brought Edward into existence.

"My late husband and I always considered Edward a special gift we gave each other."

"That's very sweet. I'm the youngest in my family, too. The only girl after two boys."

"How lovely for your parents."

I huff. "I think they'd say the boys are a million times easier."

"I wouldn't dispute that." She reflects on that for a few seconds, leaving me curious about Edward's sister, Alice. Mrs. Cullen's attention snaps back to the present like a yo-yo at the end of its string. "Is it true Edward cooks for you?"

"He has… many times. In fact, he's making tilapia for me tonight."

"Tilapia! Are you sure we're talking about the same man?"

"Yes, he's getting pretty good at it, actually."

"I'm getting pretty good at what?" Edward sets down the flowers on the little side table next to his mom's armchair, then looks from me to his mother for answers.

"Cooking," I say, before he gets us into any trouble.

"Ah, thank goodness for YouTube—and Bella. She's taught me most of what I know."

"Not the fancy stuff. You didn't learn coq au vin from me."

"Coq au vin?" His mother regards me with wonder. "You are clearly a better woman than I. No matter what I did, I could not get Edward interested in cooking. I tried everything."

"Truth," he interjects. "She did."

"I even told him he'd catch himself a good woman that way, but he never cared about it before. Not until you came along."

Edward clears his throat. "Shall we head down to lunch? It would be tragic if they ran out of garlic bread."

"They never run out of garlic bread, Edward."

He chuckles. "Okay, Mom." He slips his arm around his mother and lifts her easily out of the chair. Clearly, this is a well-rehearsed dance. "Want your cane today?" he asks.

"Why would I need my cane when I've got you?"

"Good point," he says.

She slips her hand through his bent arm, and I step out of their way so Edward can walk her into the hall. I sling my purse over one arm and trail respectfully behind. Mrs. Cullen looks over her shoulder at me.

"Bella, dear, would you be so kind…?" She holds out her left hand, and I scurry to her side. She clasps my hand with a strength that surprises me. Edward catches my eye and smiles. A ripple of warmth curls down my spine. This feels, suddenly, like a family.

.

.

.

"You're quiet," he says, pulling me closer.

"I might be in a food coma."

Edward chuckles. "I have to admit the desserts are much better on Thursdays. The chef goes all out with the Italian theme."

"Yes, let's hope the bus driver doesn't hit any potholes or my tiramisu might end up in your lap."

"Is it any wonder my mother found you totally charming?"

"Personally, I think she was taken in by Mrs. Cope's scarf."

"Mmhmm," Edward says, barely able to contain the pride beaming out at me. "That must be it."

His thumb traces a lazy arc on my arm. I snuggle into his embrace.

"You're a really good son."

"She's a great mom, and they take great care of her at the home. It's not as if I need to stand over anyone's shoulder and make sure they're doing right by her."

"No, but I'm sure you would."

"Sure, if I had to, but I get to swoop in twice a week with a handful of flowers, take her to lunch, and they think I'm a hero. It's a pretty sweet deal for me."

"It's not just that you go, although that is huge. It's… you share your life with her. It's obvious she cares about staying involved in your life and hearing about what's important to you and how you're _really_ doing. You give her that gift."

"Well," he says, stopping to kiss my temple, "it's easy to share when I'm in a really good place, and I know hearing about it will bring her joy."

I tip my head up so I can see his face. "You don't tell her when you're having a rough time?"

He shrugs. "It's not as if she can't tell anyway, but I don't need to burden her with details, you know?"

"Mmhmm. I guess that's why I don't tell my parents anything."

He's quiet for a couple of minutes, but I can out-quiet most anyone. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle and unassuming.

"I think it's different when you're younger, at least it was for me."

"How so?"

"My parents pretty much let me be, you know, the privilege of the youngest child?"

I grin because he doesn't know I discussed this topic with his mother.

"But I went through my rough patches like all kids do. I pulled away as a teenager, trying to solve my problems alone or reach out to my friends—anyone but a parent, right? They knew when I was having trouble— _of course_ they did—and the less I told them about what was going on, the more they worried. Once you get into that mode, every conversation becomes damage control, not meaningful communication."

"Why is it I seem to be able to talk to Mrs. Cope—or even your mother, a complete stranger—easier than my own parents?"

"It makes sense," he says. "They're safe for you to vent to, and they have no baggage. There's no defensiveness, no taking anything personally, no guilt for them in anything you share."

As much as I don't want to, I climb out from under his arm and shift in my seat to face him. "I feel like I'm doing so well right now. I mean, everything isn't perfect with my schoolwork and I'm not exactly working at my dream job, but I love where I live and Mrs. Cope and… there's _you…_ "

His whole face softens into a smile. "Here's me."

"What if I share all that with my folks, and it's not good enough? I don't want to go away feeling shitty about where I am because I'm not getting better grades or making more money or—"

"Or dating a man your own age?"

"Oh, god, no. Are you kidding? They'd kiss your feet!"

"You think?" One side of his mouth lifts into a charming grin.

"Hmm, let's see… an emotionally stable, financially independent artist who not only owns a slow cooker, but actually uses it, and wears a sports coat even when he's not attending a funeral? Yep, Mom'll be putting down a deposit at the church."

Edward laughs at what just spilled out of my head. "Well, that certainly is a flattering picture you paint, Bella. Oh, and FYI, I have a very classy black suit I wear to funerals."

"See? You're proving my point."

He cups my chin and gives me a peck on the nose. "Actually, I think I took you off your point, and I'm sorry, but it's damn good to know you're not worried your parents won't approve of me."

"Are _you_ worried?"

"I'm confident I could win them over once they got to know me, but I wouldn't be surprised if their initial reaction were to see me as a cradle-robber. All I really care about is how you feel about bringing me home."

"Oh, Edward. I would be incredibly proud to bring you home with me… if I ever go."

"Good to know, and thank you." He seems to be holding back something else he wants to say.

"Go for it, Edward."

He chuckles. "This is what I get for dating a bartender."

"What happened to 'charming'?" I tease.

"You are a highly charming bartender."

"Thanks. Quit stalling and speak your mind, please."

He nods. "Okay, look, I don't know your parents, so I can't possibly give any kind of informed opinion about how they'd respond. If you were my daughter, I would be damn proud of how you've picked yourself up by your bootstraps, moved forward with your schoolwork while making ends meet, and done all that without asking for a handout. On top of all that, you do a fantastic job honoring your agreement with Mrs. Cope. And if I may be so bold as to suggest it, you seem awfully happy. I just cannot imagine they wouldn't be happy for you."

I lean in and kiss him because he's kind of amazing. "Thank you for that."

"For the kiss?"

"That too."

He waggles his eyebrows. "I've got lots more where that came from."

"I'm counting on that. You did promise me an epic marathon."

"Yes, I am fully prepared… _ahem…_ to deliver on that promise."

I tip his wrist so I can read his sexy watch. "We'll be home by three. I have to punch in at Hooter's at four tomorrow. Think you've got twenty-five hours in ya?"

"Hahaha! The better question is, will I have twenty-five hours in _you_!"

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Oh, Edward. That was cheesy.

Those of you who read my one-shot, "Wrong Number" might find the opening elevator scene familiar. While Old School isn't Authorward, I believe this meet-the-mom scene was inspired long ago... Thanks for asking for it then, and I hope you found it satisfying now.  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	17. Chapter 17

**17**

We've made love and dozed on and off for hours, now. Good golly, Edward has the moves, and he knows how to use them. I wouldn't be surprised if he's been watching YouTube to bone up on his sexing skills, too. Not that I had any complaints about the Old School methods, but Edward has this thing about staying relevant.

I suppose we'll have to leave this bed at some point to eat dinner, but something tells me the tilapia plan is going to get scrapped for something quicker and more immediately satisfying. Carbs… _yes_ … and butter and cheese…

And now I'm dreaming about a piping-hot bowl of Kraft macaroni and cheese, accompanied by a dirty martini—garnished with three olives at the end of a bright pink umbrella, served on a wicker tray by a scrumptiously naked Edward, and delivered right here to this bed.

 _Mmm_ , this glorious bed— _his_ bed—I might never leave.

 _Click-click-click._

My eyes fly open. Edward is standing over me, his feet straddling my hips, camera pointed at my face. No macaroni and cheese and no martini, but the consolation prize works for me: Edward's six-foot-three frame, his beautiful, cut cock resting against his thigh after the long, promised workout, impressive even at half-mast.

I wrap my hand around his ankle—it's all I can reach. "What are you doing?"

 _Click-click-click._ "I'm sorry I woke you. Your hair looked too beautiful fanned out on the pillow. I couldn't resist."

"I suppose this is what I get for sleeping with an artist."

He lowers the camera to his chest. "Have I been downgraded from superhero?" He gives me a devastating smile, then drops to his knees on either side of my waist.

"What makes you think artist is a downgrade from superhero?"

He chuckles. "Hush. You're ruining my pictures." He covers my lips with a soft kiss. "Better."

Better but also worse. I'm falling so hard.

He raises his camera again, then changes his mind and draws the sheet over me, smoothing the material over the crest of my nipples.

"Why'd you cover me?"

"As much as I love photographing your body, I really need to focus on what's inside. Is that okay?"

 _Is that okay,_ he asks. _Mind if I look right into your soul?_

The weird part is, I want him to. Nobody has ever seen me the way Edward does. Most people never even try.

I swallow hard. " _Edward_ —" I can't finish. I nod instead.

He traces his thumb gently down my cheek. "Thank you."

I close my eyes, pinching back tears.

"It's okay. You can trust me," he whispers, kissing my eyelids. "I promise."

"I know." I've trusted him from the beginning, with everything.

 _Click-click-click._

"I need to tell you something," he says.

I know that line. Eyes shut, I smile, thrumming for his kiss. "Tell me." _Kiss me. See me._

 _Click-click-click._

"I love you, Bella Swan."

I open my teary eyes. _Click-click-click._

" _What_?"

He lifts the camera over his head, dips his forehead, and nuzzles his nose along mine. "Forgive me for the intrusion. I'm really sorry about the camera, but I wanted to capture the moment."

"Edward."

I can barely choke out his name. The tears break free and roll down my cheeks.

I know how this works. He says it, I say it back. It will wreck me if I hurt him, but silence is its own answer. Edward deserves better than that. "I'm so sorry, but I'm… not ready..."

He smiles at me as if I haven't just ruined everything. "My beautiful Bella," he says, running his thumb across my lips. "Look."

He hands me the camera to show me the last image he captured. He flops onto his back beside me while I study the photo. There's no question what he's recorded: my eyes brimming with a resounding, "I love you, too."

I roll onto my side to face him. "Glad we got that all cleared up."

"Yeah, me too," he says with a totally Edwardly grin. His hand cradles my head and pulls me in for a kiss. And we kiss and kiss and _kisssss_ and I wonder how we'll ever stop.

Edward's stomach growls. He chuckles first, but once I dissolve into giggles, the magical moment is over.

"Well?" he asks. "Should we have dinner or just go straight to dessert again?"

###

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoyed this expanded version of the _P.S. I Love You Contest_ ending. And no, we're not done yet. *wink*  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	18. Chapter 18

**18**

* * *

 **From: Bella Swan  
Sent: Tuesday, November 15, 2016 1:18 PM  
To: Renee Swan; Charlie Swan  
Subject: Checking In**

 **Hi! Remember me? Thought I'd check in and update you both on how I'm doing.**

 **Mrs. Cope and I are getting along nicely. It's a quiet neighborhood, which works for me after a long night at work. Would you believe she's turned me into an actual cook?**

 **Oh, I have a job now, bartending at Hooter's. I love my coworkers and manager, and don't worry, Dad, the crowd is usually well behaved. The tips are great, and thanks to Mrs. Cope, I've been able to put most of my paycheck into savings.**

 **My two classes are hard, but I'm working my butt off. I have a B average in both after midterms!**

 **Also, I have met someone special. I know you'll like him. He's a total gentleman and a talented photographer and he treats me like a queen.**

 **Hope you two are both doing well. I guess I will see you for dinner next week? What time is everyone arriving?**

 **xo**

* * *

.

.

.

 ** _I DID IT! I emailed my parents!_**

 _That's great. I'm happy for you._

 ** _Don't u want to know what I said about u?_**

 _Hmm, do I?_

 ** _Ha! Worried?_**

 _Should I be?_

 ** _Nah. I told them u have mad skillz_**

 _Oh dear. Should I lock my doors?_

 ** _Heehee._**

 _Let me know if you hear back from them, okay?_

 ** _Sure._**

 _You headed to work now?_

 ** _Yes, on the bus._**

 _Hope you brought your umbrella!_

 ** _All set thx to u. Client at 3 today?_**

 _Yes. I'll message you when I'm done. Don't want you riding the bus home tonight._

 ** _Aww, my hero. XOXOXO_**

 _Bye bye, beautiful. Talk soon. XX_

.

.

.

I am just tucking my purse away in the break room drawer when my phone lights up and starts to vibrate. **_Mom calling…_**

Oh shit. I hit the "ignore" button, feeling a bit cruel about it. Couldn't Apple come up with a nicer expression, like, "Let's chat at a more convenient time"?

My phone buzzes again with the voicemail notification. I'm guessing she left something along the lines of, "So great to hear from you. Great news! Congrats on your new job and your grades! Can't wait to see you next week so you can tell us more about your new beau. We love you. We miss you."

Yeah, something like that.

My phone rings again before I leave the room. Hmm, there goes that theory. Something tells me Mom wouldn't be quite this emphatic if all was well.

The big Hooters clock on the wall shows ten past two, and I'm on the boss's time now. I have to get my orange ass out there. Whatever Mom and I haven't said to each other for two months can surely wait till my break. Or she can write it down in an email, like a normal human being of the twenty-first century. Either way, she can wait.

"Hey, Jane. How's business today?"

"Oh good, you're here. It's a bit slow," she says, "but I've been waiting to take my break. Mind?"

"Sorry. Nope, go ahead."

As she passes me, she whispers into my ear, "Seat five's about to finish his fourth Bud. Just watch him?"

"Thanks." _Wonderful._ It's way too early for this shit.

It's not busy enough to pretend I can't see him signal for another drink. I cross my arms onto the bar in front of him and lean forward. "Are you planning to drive soon, sir?"

"Yep. Let's call this one for the road!" He laughs at his own terrible joke, but I don't.

"Maybe we can call you an Uber? It's on the house."

"Hey, if it gets me another beer, you can call me anything you want, babe."

"Sure. Last one, tiger?"

"Rrrrroar! I like the way you think!"

I work hard not to roll my eyes as I back away from the customer. As I settle a mug under the tap, he says, "You know, you're a lot friendlier than that other girl… whatsername… Jade?"

"Jane," Jane says to him, hip-checking me out of the way. "Bella, your phone is going nuts in there. Maybe you should go see if someone needs you."

"It's just my mom. It's fine."

"You sure? I can handle things out here."

She's right. The place is dead. "Okay, maybe I should. I told Tony Tiger here we would call him an Uber after this one."

"Gotcha. Go!"

I can't imagine any good coming from this call, but these things don't tend to improve with age. I hold my breath, open the drawer, and check my phone. Yup, five missed calls. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.

I might lose my nerve if I listen to the voicemails. Here goes nothing. **_Dialing Mom…_**

"Bella! Oh, thank God you're all right."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You weren't answering your phone!"

"I'm at work. I can't always get my phone. Are you and Dad okay?"

"Yes, yes, we're fine."

"Okay, good. So it's not urgent? I'm at work—"

"It's just so nice to hear from you. We haven't spoken to you in six weeks. You know, your father and I like to give you your space."

"Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it."

"So what's about this job? Is this _the_ Hooters, where the girls wear those skimpy uniforms and the customers gawk at their chests?"

 _Here it comes. Please strap yourselves in and hold on tight until the ride comes to a complete and full stop._

"Yep, that's the one."

"Oh, Bella. I wish you hadn't copied your father. You know how this will upset him."

"Hmm, just Dad, then?"

"Don't twist my words. This is not about me."

 _Nope, never is._ "It's a good job, Mom. I was lucky to get it. Like I said, I really like my coworkers, and—"

"Let me guess; the tips are great."

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Well, of course they are. Sex sells."

I'm in a nightmare: Someone is bludgeoning me, and there's help right outside the door, but when I open my mouth to scream, nothing comes out. Nothing but the passive-aggressive comebacks that always get me into the worst kind of trouble.

"It's explicitly against company policy to have sex with the customers." _Yep, just like that one._

"Very funny. Those uniforms leave nothing to the imagination. I don't know how you can parade around half-naked in front of a roomful of drunken perverts all night."

"Most of them are actually nice guys who just enjoy looking at a nice body while they're eating their dinners or enjoying a drink."

"Is that how you met this _photographer_ of yours? He likes to look at your nice body, I suppose?"

 _This is not okay at all. How dare she!_

"Mom, _don't_ —"

"Please tell me you haven't let him take your picture. You know, one little picture gets out to the internet and there's no bringing it back. Did you hear what happened to that Denali girl who was in Garrett's grade? She fell in with the wrong crowd—drugs, I heard—and it was awful, just _awful_! Next thing you know, her naked body is splattered all over the evening news. Her poor mother couldn't show her face at Whole Foods for a year!"

I hadn't realized how tightly I was gripping my hair until I threw my head back and nearly pulled out a handful. "That must've been truly awful for her mother."

"Yes! And for Tanya too, of course."

"Of course. The conventional cucumbers are nowhere near as flavorful."

"Oh, Bella, you know what I'm saying. These men know how to take advantage of a girl."

"Mom, you don't know anything about Edward. He's not 'these men,' and he's not taking advantage of me."

"Oh, Bella," she says, her voice dripping with disappointment in my poor judgment. "Men are men. Nobody's gonna buy the cow—"

"When you give away the milk for free. Got it, thanks."

"You don't have to be fresh, Bella." She puts on her best hurt act, but I'm having trouble working up sympathy.

"Sure I do. Who's gonna buy a cow giving sour milk?"

Mom lets out a loud, long-suffering sigh so I know exactly how trying this call has been for her. Maybe she can compare notes later with Mrs. Denali to see whose daughter fucked up worse.

"I just called to say we're proud of you, and you've twisted everything to make me the villain."

I am a pot about to boil over. The lid dances along the top, rumbling against the sides. Bubbles roll to the surface and pop. _Pop! Pop! Pop!_ Higher and higher the liquid rises.

"Really, Mom? What are you proud of, exactly? Not my job. Not my boyfriend. Not the fact that I've been staying on top of my ridiculously hard classes while working forty hours a week. Oh wait, is this the part where you tell me a B isn't good enough?"

"Sure it is, if it's the best you can do."

I feel one of those insane giggles fits coming on. Must be my body's defense mechanism to an all-out attack on every level. I take in a deep breath and puff it out slowly.

"Stick with it, Bella. It's like we've always said, your classes are your ticket, Bella."

"Out of this horrible life I'm leading?"

"Well… _no,_ not exactly. Your ticket to a _better_ life, whatever life you want."

Right now, the only life I want is one without this conversation in it. My head is throbbing; my heart feels like I just biked straight up Filbert Street, and since I'm taking inventory here, the taco salad I ate for lunch is threatening to come back up.

"Okay, great talk, Mom… I gotta get back to the drunken perverts now."

"Oh, Bella."

It takes all my self-control to force out a civil, "Bye," before disconnecting.

I toss the phone away and clasp my shaking hands between my knees. _Breathe. Breathe._

 _And this is why we don't talk._

I knew this would be a shit show. Why did I think anything had changed? They'll never see me as anything but the fuckup. The black sheep.

Fuck it, I have to work. I pick up my phone, ready to jam it into my purse and not look at it again, when I remember Edward asking me to let him know if I heard anything.

 ** _Mom called. Didn't go well.  
Need a date for Thanksgiving dinner at Shady Acres?_**

His answer is immediate. _I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have encouraged you to reach out._

 ** _Not your fault. It is what it is. I'll deal._**

 _Want to talk? Are you okay?_

His kindness turns on the faucet, and the waterworks spew. He's waiting for my answer, worrying about me. I can't fake it, but I also know I can't talk to him right now without losing it.

 ** _I'll be fine. TTYL_**

It's tempting to sit here and let Edward text me off the ledge, but he has a shoot to prepare for, and I'm on the clock. Time to be a grown up. I reach for my phone, press the button, and swipe the screen before anything else comes through. I don't want to hear about my phone buzzing away in the drawer from the next person who punches in.

Jane's customer is being escorted off his stool by Emmett when I come back out.

"Everything okay?" Jane asks me. "You look a little beat up."

"Nothing a good twelve-hour shift won't cure."

She grins. "I don't know how good it'll be. The rain is picking up. It's gonna be a zoo in here pretty soon."

People come inside seeking fellowship when there's a storm. _When it rains, we pour,_ my last boss used to say.

"That's fine. I won't have time to think."

Autopilot is my friend. Soon, the bar seats fill up, and there's a nice hum in the air. I'm feeling in control again, in the groove. The voices of doubt hold no power over me while I'm taking such good care of my customers and keeping the servers happy. I'd like to see my mother manage this!

"Bella!"

 _Huh?_ That sounded like a very out of breath… "Edward?"

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Edward? What about his shoot? Oh dear.

 **XXX ~BOH**


	19. Chapter 19

**19**

He squeezes between the end stool and the wall, and I hurry down to meet him. "What are you doing here?"

He looks awful. Drenched right through his trench coat, hair plastered to his head, water droplets hanging off his whiskers, his face a map of anxiety from the creases in his forehead to the square set of his jaw.

"I'm worried about you."

 _God, I did this to him?_

"You came all the way down here in this horrible storm because of my texts?"

"You seemed really upset, and you weren't answering me. I tried to call you but it kept going straight to voicemail."

"Now you sound like my mother."

"Ouch."

"Ugh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. It was incredibly sweet of you to come, but what about your client?"

"I canceled."

"Oh, wow. You didn't have to do that."

"Bella," he says, his voice dropping into his growly register, "you're my priority. I can reschedule a client." If there ever was a question in my mind where I ranked, Edward has just put that to rest. "Besides, this is all my fault."

"No!" _Shit,_ we can't have this conversation here. "Hold on a sec?"

He nods. Poor Edward, slumped against the wall, dripping with guilt and rain and worry. Aren't I just Suzy Sunshine today, spreading my rays of joy out into the world? And now I have to impose on my coworker—again.

"Jane, I'm really sorry to do this to you, but I really need a few minutes with Edward. Can you handle the bar alone?"

She follows my gaze to my rumpled, soaked, miserable boyfriend. "Wow, he looks like hell. Did you two have a fight?"

"What? No!"

"Of course. Go."

"Thanks. I'll make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it."

I jut my chin toward the kitchen door, and Edward meets me. "Try to be inconspicuous. I don't think I'm allowed to bring you back here."

"I don't want to get you in tr—"

I grab his hand and pull him behind me. "Keep your head down." We hoof it through the kitchen and into the employee lounge, and I lock the door behind him. His trench coat and his loafers are soaked.

"God, Edward, did you take the bus here?"

"No, I drove. The bus would've been too slow."

"How did you get so thoroughly drenched inside your car?"

"Coming in from the parking lot, I guess."

"Where's your umbrella?"

"Huh?" He shakes his head. "I don't know. I forgot it, I guess. Can we stop worrying about me, please?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I'm done yet. Will you at least take off your coat?"

"Fine." He pulls off his trench coat and holds it away from his body. "Happy?"

"Not really. You're soaked to the bone."

"Bella, it's fine I'm waterproof." He grasps my hand. "Talk to me about what happened with your mother."

"Ugh." I plop onto the love seat, tugging him down with me. "I sent her an email, all very upbeat, just like we talked about." He nods. "Right away, she calls me."

"Oh boy," he says.

"Right. You know how much I love talking on the phone."

"Go on."

"I wasn't going to answer, but she called like five times, and I started to worry something was really wrong. So I called her back, hoping maybe she'd have one nice to thing to say… or at least, it would be a quick, 'Looking forward to seeing you on Thanksgiving,' but somehow, we ended up back inside the never-ending, passive-aggressive conversation about how I'm fucking up everything in my life."

"Oh, Bella. I'm so sorry."

"She has this uncanny ability to make me feel terrible about myself, and at the very same time, make me feel guilty for getting mad at her about it. It's so twisted, you'd really have to see it to believe it."

"Sounds like a great time."

"Definitely. I made the colossal mistake of telling them where I work, so that was fun."

"I can imagine."

"Did you know I parade around half-naked for drunken perverts? She makes Hooters sound like a strip club!"

Edward doesn't respond. Maybe he has his doubts about the clientele, too, but he has never made me feel sleazy. Anything but.

"It's insulting," I rail on, "and not just to me, but to every single person who walks through the door."

"Yes," he says quietly.

"How ridiculous is that? Jump to conclusions much?"

He scoots closer and wraps his arm around me. "I'm sorry, Bella."

The pressure inside me is rising again, bubbles of anger growing and rocketing to the surface.

"And she's okay with the classes I am working my _ass_ off not to fail because that's my ticket outta here. Why the hell does it make me so angry when she says what I've been saying all along? Isn't that why I'm taking the damn classes in the first place? To find a better job and make a better life for myself?"

He presses his lips to my hair and tightens his grip around my shoulders. He doesn't answer back, doesn't become defensive, doesn't try to solve my problems or tell me I shouldn't feel angry.

"It doesn't help to know that I'm being completely irrational about all this. Why is it so damn important to me to have their approval?"

"They're your parents. Of course you want their approval."

I sigh, but it's just the whistle of steam leaving the tea kettle. There's still a storm raging inside.

"I was doing just fine, and now… she's made me doubt everything."

He pulls back sharply. " _Everything_?" Poor guy looks like he just took a punch to the gut.

"Oh god, Edward. No. You're the one thing in my life I know I did right. I have no idea how I got so damn lucky, but I don't spend a second doubting you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Well, that's damn good to hear."

"Yeah, who gives a shit if my mom thinks you're a drunken pervert who's taking advantage of me?"

" _Me?_ What the hell did you tell her?"

"Not that!"

His expression softens. "I kinda figured."

"I mentioned that you were a photographer. She then decided you were going to plaster the internet with naked pictures of me."

"Huh, now why didn't I think of that?" A grin edges up the corner of his mouth.

"Aren't you the funny one?"

"Some people tell me I have a lively sense of humor."

I recognize Edward's strategy. He's testing the waters, dipping a cautious toe into Hurricane Bella to see if I'll let him take the edge off my rage. Falling under the magical healing spell of Edward Cullen is a billion times better than rehashing the fight with my mother.

"I wouldn't say it's one of your top five qualities." _Yes, Edward, work your super powers on me. Please._

A flash of recognition plays across his face. "I'm not sure whether to be wounded or flattered. Should I even ask what the top five are?"

I scoot a little closer, even though his shirt's making mine damp. "Let's see, in no particular order, I'd say kindness…"

"Mmm."

"Generosity."

"Hmm, I like that."

"Maturity." I can't keep a straight face with that one, and he returns a cute little scowl.

"Treading on thin ice."

"See, this is where that sense of humor would come in handy. Just sayin'."

"Continue, please."

"Okay, let's see… confidence."

"Mmhm."

"And hotness."

A laugh booms out of him. "Okay, that's not where I thought you were going, but I'll take it."

"I only speak the truth."

"Yes, that's one of my favorite qualities about _you_."

I press my hand to his heart. "Still feeling wounded?"

"I suppose I'll live," he says. "And how are you feeling?"

"Lucky as hell."

He leans in and kisses me, and I feel even luckier.

When he pulls back, I can see the change in his eyes from when he first arrived. The stormy seas have calmed. _Damn_ , he is so handsome. Not his best hair day, though.

"You know that thing you do with your hand?" I ghost the motion through my own hair. Even though I've watched him do it a thousand times, I can't reproduce the gesture.

He grins. "What, this?" He spreads his fingers wide and pulls his hand across his head, but the wet hair flops uselessly against his scalp.

"Hmm, try again?"

 _Unf_ , that smile he gives me, ever the accommodating boyfriend. He passes his hand through again. Nothing.

"May I try?"

He drops his hands to his lap. "Knock yourself out."

His eyes close as my fingertips meet his forehead. I start them through the matted mess. Edward releases a soft sigh, as if his whole trip here would have been worth it just for this. I thread my fingers through his wet mop. He moans. I am toast.

I move closer, nuzzle my nose into his neck. He smells like damp skin and wet shirt and the shampoo he used this morning. Why can't I stay right here forever? Why do work and school and life have to drag me away?

I tighten my grasp on his hair and line my mouth up in front of his. _I could kiss you for a thousand years, Edward Cullen._

His eyes drift open, adjusting lazily to the fluorescent lighting. He glances at my arm overhead, and a grin stretches across his face. "Give up?"

"Guess I was wrong about your hair bouncing back into place."

He laughs. "Sorry to disappoint you. Yeah, it'll be a rat's nest up there when it dries."

"Why didn't you tell me you had a flaw?"

"Couldn't risk losing you."

I kiss him without warning. His mouth is not exactly ready, but he's always willing and oh-so-able. He seems eager to continue, but I pull back, gently breaking our kiss.

"God, I love you so much." Still buzzing and shocked at the words that just flew out of my mouth, I force my eyes open. "Whoops."

"Whoops." His grin widens into a beautiful, happy smile.

"Wow. I did not know that was gonna happen. I've never said that to anyone before."

He reaches up to cup my cheek, his expression tender and loving. "Are you okay with it?"

"Totally."

"Good." His thumb traces a gentle arc across my cheek. "Me, too."

A deep sigh escapes me. Been quite a day.

Edward pulls me to his lips, and we share a soft whisper of a kiss. I could sit here for another hour and gaze into his eyes and babble about how it feels to be so ridiculously in love with him, but something tells me my boss wouldn't appreciate that. I stand, pulling Edward to his feet.

"I think I better at least pretend to do some work today. Are you still picking me up later?"

"Of course. My mother would kill me if I let you ride the bus home on a night like this."

"My hero."

"Umbrella Man to the rescue," he says.

"I was referring to your mother."

" _Ouch_!"

"Seriously, Edward. Some Umbrella Man you are, running around in this storm unarmed. Would you like to borrow mine?"

He chuckles. "I'll manage."

I take his hands in mine. "Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?"

"Hmm, not since you called me a drunken pervert."

"Well, shame on me. I appreciate you, Edward. Thank you for coming down here and cheering me up."

"Except for the monsoon and the insults, it was my pleasure." He lays it on thick with the pout.

"Aww, poor baby."

"While we're baring our souls here, there's something I've been thinking about for a while now, and I've never been able to tell you."

"Tell me, Edward. Say it out loud."

I close my eyes and wait for his kiss. Instead, I feel the tickle of his lips at my ear.

"You look really hot in your uniform."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Well he's not ALWAYS mushy!

So, this strange thing happened... Originally, chapters 18 and 19 were combined, but when I took a hard look at it, I felt as if there were two very distinct movements. I did not want to muddle the dynamic between Bella and her mother with this very intense Bella/Edward chapter. I picked what seemed like the right dividing point (Edward's arrival), and lopped the chapter in two. Without meaning to, I created angst over why Edward had rushed there in the rain (which I'd thought was fairly straightforward, but I was WRONG!). Once again, I am so impressed with you guys for seeing what's not there and what I didn't anticipate. I can't tell you how much I love the interactions I've had and how much your thoughtful reviews mean to me. And no, that's not me asking for more reviews. That's just me saying, "Thanks. They matter to me."

This is also an excellent time to thank Pa Trizia again, for all her input, and did you hear she and Rob took a selfie last week? Yup. Also, thanks for checking out some of my other stories. That's been a kick, too! MWAH!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	20. Chapter 20

**20**

The doorbell rings. Mrs. Cope and I both pop up onto our feet. I run my hand down the row of covered buttons lining my blouse. "Do I look okay?"

"You look perfect, and she already loves you. Open the door."

I take a deep breath and turn the knob.

"…just saying it's not how Raoul helps me up the steps. You don't have to be so sensitive."

"Raoul _this_ , Raoul _that_. Maybe you'd like to go have dinner at Raoul's, Mom."

"Um, hello? Edward? Everything okay out here?"

"Bella! Hi!" Edward looks as if he wants to add, "Thank you for saving me!"

"Come in, come in. Hello, Mrs. Cullen." I lean in and give her a gentle hug.

"Hello, dear. Don't you look pretty?"

Mrs. Cope holds out her hand in greeting. "Hello, Esme. I'm so pleased you could make it. It's lovely to meet you. The kids have told me so much about you."

"Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home, Shelly. These are for you." She hands Mrs. Cope a white bakery box tied with orange ribbon. "They're triple chocolate chip cookies, my favorites. Just between us"—she leans in as if to reveal a big secret—"I have a bit of a sweet tooth."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face as I glance over at Edward, the apple from the sweet tooth tree.

"That was unnecessary, but thank you just the same. Come on in. What can we get you to drink?"

"Oh, a drink sounds nice, actually. Do you have any vodka?"

Edward sputters. "Mom! Are you supposed to have alcohol? What about your meds?"

She whacks him on the arm. "Honestly, Edward. You can be such an old fuddy-duddy sometimes."

Poor Edward turns bright red. I step in as he eases her to the armchair. "Mrs. Cullen, how about if I make you one of my famous gimlets?"

Her face lights up. "I would love that."

"Great. How about you, Edward? You look like you could use a drink." I flash him a smile he doesn't return.

"Something strong."

I nod. "Mrs. Cope?"

"Well, I don't want to be the only one without a drink, now do I?"

"Course not. Edward, I could use your help with all these drinks. Would you mind?"

"Not at all." He follows me to the bar cart and gives me a solid kiss on the lips. "I hadn't given you a proper hello."

"You seem to have had your hands full."

He chuckles. "Yes. Mom gets a little jumpy when I take her from the home."

"Oh, _Mom_ does, eh?"

His eyebrows lift. "Are you insinuating I am acting irrationally?"

I place my hand on his chest. "You might be acting like a worried son. It's kind of adorable."

"Whatever."

"Have I ever told you it drives me wild when you pout like that?"

"Have I ever told you that your blouse has way too many buttons?"

"No, you've never seen it before."

"Then let me tell you now."

"How about getting me some ice?"

"Trying to cool me off?"

"Maybe."

"Fine. Hey, make my mom's drink as weak as possible?"

"Of course. I'll give her a barmaid's pour—lime juice with a floater of Grey Goose." I wink.

"Thank you. I don't think anyone wants to see her get wasted."

I follow his gaze across the room to where the two Mrs. C's are getting acquainted. Conversation seems to flow easily, and I marvel at the circumstances that brought the two women into the same room.

Edward returns with the ice, and I mix his martini first. He gives me a quizzical grin. "What happened to ladies first?"

I shrug. "You know what they say about putting on your own oxygen mask first?"

"Good point," he says, downing half of it in one gulp.

"Go!"

I give him a gentle nudge and follow him to the living room, where Mrs. Cope is complimenting Edward's mother on raising such a fine young man.

"He's always been a well-mannered boy," Mrs. Cullen agrees. "Takes after his father."

"Here ya go, Mom, Mrs. Cope. Happy pre-Thanksgiving, mini get-together, everyone."

Overfilled martini glasses are carefully clinked. Edward and I watch as his mom tastes her drink. I catch the telltale pinch of her face as the alcohol hits her nose. She takes one sip, smacks her lips, and shudders.

"It's perfect!"

.

.

.

Edward's all over the place, rushing to pull out Mrs. Cope's chair, then mine, before escorting his mother to the table. Her steps are noticeably shakier than before the cocktail, causing Edward to shoot me a pained grimace. I have a feeling he'll be much relieved when his mother is delivered back to her caretakers at Shady Acres. For her part, Mrs. Cullen seems to be taking great pleasure in the change of scenery.

"Oh, what a beautiful centerpiece," she says. "Is that ranunculus?"

Mrs. Cope smiles as she regards the arrangement. "Yes. Just last week, Edward and I were discussing our favorite flowers. Next thing you know, mine magically appear on my dining table."

"Just like magic," I say, squeezing Edward's hand in mine.

Edward clears his throat, not a fan of being the center of attention. "Can I pour everyone a glass of pinot?"

"Oh," Mrs. Cope says, "isn't that one of the bottles you kids brought back from your trip?"

"Um…" Edward avoids eye contact with me while he fumbles through his answer. "We never actually made it up to Duckhorn, Mrs. C." I start to giggle, and Edward shoots me a warning glare, which doesn't help the situation. "I bought this at Reno's on the way to pick up Mom."

The two ladies shoot each other knowing grins. If Edward would stop blushing, they'd probably stop knowing.

"I'm sure it tastes just as good from the local shop," Mrs. Cope says helpfully.

"One hopes," he says, pouring her the first glass.

Mrs. Cullen, bless her heart, changes the subject. "So, Shelly, I hear your kids are flying in tomorrow from the east coast? How lovely."

"Yes, it's been a few months since I've seen the grandbabies. They grow so quickly."

"They sure do."

The two swap grandchildren data: names and ages and hair color and personalities and likely careers. All this talk of grandchildren seems to roll right off Edward, who is totally focused on his task of walking around the table, serving everyone off the turkey platter.

The room fills with the pleasant clatter of forks clanging against plates, compliments delivered with hums of pleasure, and a chorus of "Please pass the stuffing/potatoes/green beans." The conversation slows for a bit, which seems to suit Edward just fine. He keeps a careful eye on his mother, who downs her first glass of wine and insists on a refill.

Edward tries a light pour, but Mrs. Cullen isn't having it. "What's this? Am I the designated driver?"

"Mom—"

"It's okay, son. I promise I'm over twenty-one."

He sighs heavily and fills her glass, along with mine and Mrs. Cope's.

Mrs. Cullen takes a triumphant gulp of her hard-won pinot. "How about you, Bella? Where will you be spending Thanksgiving?"

I guess Edward and his mother haven't had this conversation yet. This ought to be fun.

"I'll be here with the Copes."

"Oh? You aren't having dinner with your family?"

"Actually, no."

Mrs. Cope breaks in. "My kids are so excited to meet Bella. We're all looking forward to it." She shoots me a supportive smile from across the table, and I send back a silent thank-you.

"Actually, Mom," Edward says, "I'm planning to cut out of Alice's after dinner and take Bella to her parents' house for dessert."

" _Oh?_ "

 _Yikes_. "Mrs. Cullen, the very last thing I'd want to do is pull Edward away from his family—"

"Bella, it's okay," Edward interjects. "I'm sure my mother understands these things."

Mrs. Cullen cuts in. "This will be your first time meeting Bella's parents?"

"Yes, and her _large_ brothers." Edward puts on a good show, like he expects to be on the hot seat, but we both know I'm the one walking into the lion's den. He's coming along to keep me safe.

I grab his hand. "It'll be short and sweet. 'Hello. Nice to meet you. Pumpkin. It's been real. Gotta run.'"

"What if I want pecan?" He is looking awfully proud of himself for that one.

I shake my head. "Remember that conversation we had about your sense of humor?"

"I seem to remember a surprise ending." He waggles his eyebrows.

 _Yes, Edward, you're hot._

Mrs. Cullen wags a shaky finger at her son. "Just mind your p's and q's and I'm sure you'll knock their socks off."

Edward chuckles. "Thanks, Mom, I'll try to remember that. Speaking of dessert…"

"Yes, I should go check on the pies."

Edward bolts out of his seat. "I'll help."

"Take your time with the pies, kids," Mrs. Cope calls after us.

The two grannies share a good laugh as Edward and I race to the kitchen.

.

.

.

"They know we're making out in here," I whisper between kisses.

"Yep." He's on me again, taking no prisoners with that tongue.

"What about your p's and q's?" I giggle.

He backs me up against the pantry and kisses me so hard I might crash through the cabinet doors. "I'm more concerned with my x's and o's at the moment."

That does it. Between his breath-defying kisses and his corny jokes, I'm toast. I hunch over, holding my belly, wheezing for air.

"Are you okay?"

I hold up my hand and nod. "Don't. Speak."

He steps back, hands on hips, and watches me with an amused grin. "You brought this on yourself."

"No! This is _all_ you."

"Oh, come on. First you wear that blouse with the Victorian never-gonna-see-the-boobs-again buttons…"

"Stop!"

"And you keep touching me…"

"I was holding your hand!"

"Touching is touching, Bella."

"I think you're losing it."

"You might be right. Mom is getting blitzed out there. So much for your barmaid's pour."

"Um, when you follow it up with twenty ounces of wine, yeah."

"Hey, what am I supposed to do?"

I take his hands. "Edward, it's fine. She's having fun. They both are."

"Yeah," he says. "If Raoul doesn't kill me when I bring her back."

"Raoul, Raoul, Raoul…" I soften my tease with a kiss on his nose, and he comes around with a sigh.

"This is really good," he says. "I'm so glad we did it."

"Me too. And we really do need to take the pies out."

He chuckles. "I'm on it."

I love how well Edward knows his way around this kitchen. He springs into action, laying out the cooling racks and locating the oven mitts on his first try. When he opens the oven door and the perfect pecan pie is staring back at him and wafting its goodness into his nostrils, Edward's expression radiates sheer joy.

 _You're gonna make someone a damn fine husband one day, Edward Cullen._

It's not the first time my fantasies have run away with me, rocketing me into a happily ever after with this man. One day.

But this time, the fantasy brings a melancholy, and the solid ground under my feet suddenly doesn't seem so solid.

"Bella, wanna grab the—" He sets the pie on the counter and tosses off the oven mitts, his I'm-about-to-eat-dessert smile fading when he senses the shift in mood. "What's wrong?"

"Edward, how do you feel about having children?"

His face registers surprise, but it doesn't last long. "All that talk of grandbabies out there?"

I nod.

He takes my hand in his. "Bella, have you been worrying about having this conversation because of our age difference? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"No, I don't think I've actually thought about it until just now. Is that crazy?"

"Not necessarily. Your five-year horizon doesn't include children. The concept hasn't hit your radar screen."

"Should it?" It's a bit surreal having this conversation here and now, certainly not how I'd envisioned our evening going.

He shrugs. "I suppose it can't hurt to think about it."

"It feels a little weird to talk about this with you after only two months of dating."

"I guess, but it's just another piece of the puzzle, to see if we're going to fit."

I find myself looking for answers in his intense, complicated eyes. "Is it something you think about a lot?"

He rubs his hand over his chin, glances sadly at the pie, and moves next to me with his back against the counter. "I'm going to be super honest with you, Bella. Yes, I always assumed I'd be a father one day. I never thought about it much in my twenties or thirties. I know it's not fair, but as a man, I do have the luxury of time. Forty was a bit of a wake-up call, and that's when I had to have a little talk with myself."

It makes me smile to imagine this Edward-to-Edward heart-to-heart. "How did that go?"

"I hadn't met anyone I could see myself with for the long haul. I'm only getting married once, and it's going to be forever—whatever that means."

A perfect image of Edward in his wedding-day tux pops into my head. That will be one lucky bride.

"This might sound selfish"—he looks up sheepishly—"but I chose my own happiness over settling for a girl who might tick off the boxes and make beautiful babies but not be a true love connection."

"I think it's more selfish to pursue a so-so relationship because you feel you should start a family and then end up with a broken home."

He nods. "So, there I was at the bus stop one rainy day in September, a forty-three-year-old man whose swimmers might be slowing down for all I know, and I met this girl—this beautiful, vital, voluptuous, sweet, confident girl—and…"

"Annnnnd?"

He throws his hands in the air. "And who knows?"

"Who knows?"

"Bella, I'm not asking you to answer the question. Unless you have some kind of physical condition that would prevent you—"

"No."

"I was just going to say, it's not a deal-breaker for me one way or the other. We don't know our future, separately or together, so let's not put this pressure on ourselves, okay?"

"Yes, okay." Even though I hadn't realized how much this was weighing on me, I already feel better. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being good at this."

"I suppose that's where my maturity comes in handy," he says with a wink.

"Edward, while we're on the heavy topic of what the future might bring, there's something else that's kind of been weighing on me."

"What is it?"

"As you know, I've been spending several nights a week at your house."

"Yes, my favorite nights of the week."

"The things is, that's not really the deal I made with Mrs. Cope."

"Ahh. Has she said something to you?"

"No, I don't think she would. She knows how happy I am, and she is genuinely happy for me. I just feel like I'm cheating her."

He places his hands on my shoulders, and I have to tip my chin up to meet his eye. "Do you want to stop sleeping over?"

"No!"

He laughs. "Okay, phew."

"But I don't like feeling this way either."

"I understand. You should talk to her. Address it head on."

"You think?"

"Yes, absolutely. Maybe it's not really a problem for her, and you're feeling bad for nothing. You're here when you're here, still helping her with errands and cooking and keeping up the house, and this is still your home base."

"Maybe." Even if he's right, it only solves my problem for now.

He inches closer, levels his eyes to mine. "Bella, what's going on in your head?"

"What's gonna happen to her when I'm ready to move on? Down the road, I mean."

" _Ahhh,_ I gotcha." He wraps his arms around me like a blanket and eases my head to his chest. His heart beats against my cheek. "Down that road, when you're ready for the next phase of your life, you'll help Mrs. Cope find someone new. Your replacement won't be you, but there are a lot of people out there who need her as much as you did, and who would be good for Mrs. Cope."

"You think?" I tighten my grip around his back. I should have named sturdiness as one of my top five. It'd be a tough competition between hot and sturdy.

"Bella, I _know_. In fact, off the top of my head, I can think of two women who would be great companions for her, both clients of mine. One of them is a recently divorced mother of a six-year-old girl, who had to move back in with her parents. Can't you just see Mrs. Cope with that little girl?"

"Actually, yes. That'd be wonderful."

"For both of them."

I tip my chin up to meet his gaze. "You have excellent problem-solving skills."

He gives me the sweetest smile and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Do you think it would help if I dropped in on Mrs. C occasionally? That way, she'd feel as if she's getting an extra person, not losing one."

"You'd do that?

"Sure. She's right down the street. I work from home. How hard would it be?"

 _Not hard at all for a man like you._

"Thank you, Edward. I'll talk to her tonight, when you leave to take your mom back home."

"Oh, god, don't remind me."

###

* * *

 **Author's Note** : So, that happened! MWAH!  
 **XXX ~BOH**


	21. Chapter 21

**21**

A soft knock at the kitchen door startles me. Edward pokes his nose against the window and waves.

I open the door and snap the towel at his chest. "You scared me!"

"Sorry, sorry." He laughs as his hands fly in front of his midsection—as if I'd risk harming him _there_. "I texted you when I left Shady Acres. You knew I was coming."

"It's dark out, and you never use this door."

"I didn't want to wake Mrs. Cope."

"So instead, you take ten years off my life?"

"Four more and we'll be even." He pulls me into a kiss before I can protest further. I have to admit, kissing beats fighting.

"How did your drop-off go? I don't see any bruises." I give him a good looking over just to make sure.

"Raoul was on a break, and Mom was fast asleep before I left the floor."

"You dodged a bullet there."

"Mmhmm. She says to thank you again for organizing our little makeshift-family gathering."

"Did she say anything else?"

"Are you fishing for compliments, dear?"

"No! And by the way, I can't believe you didn't tell her about Thanksgiving! That was awkward."

"It's not an issue. I'd already discussed it with Alice. Mom's fine with it, just wants to make sure I"—he air quotes—"'put my best foot forward' with your parents."

"I take it you didn't mention the drunken pervert thing?"

He chuckles. "Nope. And yes, Bella, she waxed on and on about how sweet you are and how beautiful you are and how you're such a good influence on me…"

"I'm a good influence, huh?"

"She thinks you're domesticating me."

"Oh my god, _me_? I seriously doubt I can take any credit for your domestication."

"Hey, I came back to help with the dishes, didn't I? Hmm, looks like I arrived at just the right moment; everything's all put away."

"Nice try, mister. I saved the roasting pan for you. It's soaking in the sink."

"See? Mom's right!"

I snap the towel at his backside as he scurries toward the sink. "Don't make me hurt you."

He rolls up his sleeves and attacks the pan. "Did you get a chance to have that talk with Mrs. Cope?"

"Actually, I did. Figured I should bring it up while the pinot was still flowing through her veins."

He keeps scrubbing but looks over at me. "And?"

"As predicted. She loves me, she loves you, she loves us together. She says everything is working out fine from her perspective, and she doesn't want us to worry about her."

"No surprise there."

"She also said she wouldn't say no to the occasional visit from the handsome gentleman down the street if I'm going to be out all day and night, but she seemed concerned that you might feel obliged, and she doesn't want that."

"Noted." We both know his sense of duty would oblige him regardless of what anyone says or promises.

"Also, she asked me to implore you not to bring any more baked goods of the store-bought or home-made variety."

Edward laughs. "Have flowers been outlawed as well?"

"Nope, no mention was made of flowers."

"Okay, at least I don't have to show up empty-handed." He lifts the roasting pan out of the sink and I step to his side with the towel. "Oh, so _that's_ what you're supposed to use that thing for?"

I give him a watch-it-buddy glare, and he holds up his hands and laughs. I dry the pan, and Edward takes it from me and returns it to the cabinet over the oven. I toss away the towel and step into his arms.

"Did you know your mother invited Mrs. Cope to her duplicate bridge class at Shady Acres?"

"No, really?"

"Yes, apparently she and Mr. Cope used to play all the time. She's been wanting to play but hasn't had the courage to venture out and find a game. It seems your mother has been looking for a partner. They were both ecstatic about it."

"Wow, who would've thought…?"

"Who would've thought," I echo, "I'd bump into an old-fashioned guy with a bad habit of saving damsels in distress—"

"And I'd bump into a girl who didn't have the good sense to wear a raincoat in a monsoon—"

"And we'd end up here, in this kitchen, taking off each other's clothes…"

"We're not—" The light bulb switches on, and Edward chuckles at himself. _"Oh._ "

"Better get cracking, Old School. You've got a lot of buttons to undo."

::THE END::

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Sigh. These two were VERY hard to let go. In fact, the moment I left them at the **P.S. I Love You Contest** , I dove right back in again! To all you readers, and especially you who stopped by at some point to review or PM me, thank you for your support and feedback. I sure love your insights and questions and issues and smiles and personal anecdotes. You make me laugh and think and wonder and want to write more stories!

 ** _And now, the thank-you's:_ To my contest team-Ladyeire, Shell Taylor, and Chayasara-** thank you so much for helping me launch this story and find a cool, new audience! Many thanks to the contest hosts, **Sri** and **Chrissie Purple (purpleC305).** **To my newest partner** , **Patrizia Adamo** , you somehow made the time for these extra chapters I threw at you fast and furious. I deeply appreciate not only your honest reflections on the story and your guidance on where to dive deeper, but also your truly inspiring photos of hot photographers at work in all stages of undress! My files runneth over. Thank you for your heart, your mind, and your energy. **To the generous bloggers** who picked up this story at ADF and TLS, I thank you so much for your kind words and for bringing new readers to my stories.

What's next for me? *grins* Stay tuned here or on Facebook (Kaye P Hallows).

 ***LATEBREAKING NEWS* Check out the "Old School" sequel, "A Big Enough Umbrella" right here!**

 **XXX ~BOH**


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